


Spirit In The Night

by Kotik



Series: Dawn Of The Federation [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Disability, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Healing, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:12:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2015850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kotik/pseuds/Kotik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip has paid a devastating price for his successful raid on the Romulan shipyards. The "First Quad" has a mountain to climb to heal the fallen Engineer, but the late Eldest Mother was always convinced he would achieve greatness despite all adversity. Will he prove her right with the help of three loving companions?</p><p>*** extended version with extra scenes ***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Treacherous Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> The end of ‘Darkness At The Edge Of Space’ marked another milestone in the epic journey that I started in 2009 with ‘Tomorrow Never Knows’ (published as “Words” on fanfiction dot net). Had someone told me back then that I would write more than 200.000 words for the pure joy of it in a language that is not my native one, I would have been tempted to label that person 'fairly crazy'. But I did, and I'm already working on the draft for the fourth, the sequel of this, the third, story. The ultimate goal is to break at least the half million words barrier. Not because I’m a number junkie, but because I have just become too immersed in this universe. 
> 
> Be warned, however. This story may be a hard pill to swallow for some. It abandons the time-tested Star Trek method of either miraculously healing their major characters or killing them. There is a third option and this story explores it. If the thought of a major character having to live with a serious disability upsets you, please don't unload on me – just do not read it I am not going to spoil the result, but while not being fluff, of course this story will also not be all devastation, angst and gloom. Just the good stuff will be hardly worked for by the characters. 
> 
> The version on fanfiction dot net is the ‘American TV version’, where all bed sheets are L-shaped, so that he is naked from the waist up, while she’s wrapped up like a catholic nun. The uncensored version is simultaneously published on ‘Archive of our Own’ (just google that and search for ‘Kotik’). The same is true for ‘Darkness on the Edge Of Space’ by the way – there is a version on AO3 with additional scenes.
> 
> And another grateful bow goes to my fantastic beta reader Eireann ( LoyaulteMeLie on ff net).  
> You’re the best ma’am!
> 
> Have fun  
> Kotik aka the Fat Hippo

_ Six months after the end of "Darkness On The Edge Of Space" _

  
_ His hands roamed her body as her big, firm breasts glistened with water running over them. As he gently caressed the soft skin of her bust, they groaned their pleasure into each other's throat with their tongues engaged in a wrestling match for more pleasure. Neither of them was paying attention to the shower, despite the fact that the hot water was slowly running out. He gasped when her strong hand gently grabbed his erection... _

Malcolm Reed, Chief Executive Officer of "Reed Industrial Research and Production Corporation", woke up with a start and slammed his fist on the table in despair and frustration. The hope that working himself to shreds to get his fledgling company going would rid him of the forbidden dreams he had about T'Pol, or even of threesomes with her and Hoshi, had not come true. On the contrary, the harder he worked, the more likely he was to fall asleep at his desk and then end up having even more of them.

Once the dream-induced erection had subsided he stood up and looked out of the window. What had started as a small laboratory, bought from their remaining savings, was now a veritable small factory, providing jobs for eighty humans and a Vulcan intern who served as his personal assistant. He had come up with several prototypes for small force-field generators for civilian use, two of which were now in production and selling exceptionally well. But even with this success, the profits of RIRP were still somewhat modest. It was more than enough to pay infrastructure maintenance and fairly good wages to all employees, but his own salary was necessarily set rather low or he would end up cutting into the balance too heavily. Most of their private expenses were paid from T'Pol's generous Starfleet payments and Trip's invalid pension. Especially the latter made him recoil in disgust at himself, as in return for partly living off Trip's invalid payments, the only thing he could bring to the communal table were illicit fantasies of shagging T'Pol.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it in one go, before taking a look at the schematics on his desk. It was his draft of a three megajoule variable force-field generator as specified in a tender invited by Starfleet. Considering that his company was a mere speck on the economical radar, he could only imagine that Falks had something to do with the fact that his company was even sent the official information. On the other hand, he  had invented the whole bloody principle in the first place, and had worked on better generators two years ago when they were still repairing space stations for Starfleet. Coming up with a first prototype had been easy, but he had no idea how he would go about financing the necessary expansion of production facilities should he win the contract. 

His office in Bilbao had slowly become more of a hiding place to him as their house in Morro Jable on Fuerteventura had become a place of sadness. Their new home was set in a lovely garden not far from the crystal clear waters of the Atlantic Ocean, but the atmosphere had grown more and more desperate with every hospital visit that they came back from with no news of improvement in Trip's condition. The engineer was still in the Intensive Care Unit at the Berlin Charité University clinic in the care of faithful Dr. Phlox, who had given up all other assignments to be able to care for the man who had been one of his most frequent patients over the years. 

Malcolm had shirked some of the last few visits to the hospital as it became increasingly painful to see Trip literally decline before his eyes. The once muscular chest of his friend had begun to look fallen in, while his legs, immobile for over six months, were as thin as other people's arms. It pained the Englishman beyond words to see Trip in such a state, and he had become too spineless to face the sight every day.

And somehow, which was almost worse, he had lost touch with Hoshi amid all this. Too ashamed to touch her, because of the guilt that he also had intimate thoughts of T'Pol, he had retracted into his time-honoured shell, somehow contriving to ignore her increasingly obvious puzzled hurt. Had she but known it, he reasoned in the tortured recesses of his mind, he was doing her a kindness. After all, no sex was better than accidentally crying out the Vulcan's name while making love to Hoshi; how would she feel if in the throes of their deepest intimacy she heard her husband speak the name of another woman? He longed for his wife’s gentle touch, the overpowering force of her love whenever she kissed him, but he was trapped in his own self-reproach. 

He downed another whiskey before answering the comms hail that had sounded for several seconds already. He pushed the button and Hoshi's face appeared on the screen. 

"You look like hell, sweetie," he heard her say after a while of just staring at each other. 

"Long day, love. But I have the prototype ready. Now it's just a case of presenting a good case."

He could see her momentary frown that she smoothed away immediately. She didn't want a report on the state of business affairs. She wanted to know if and when he was coming home. He had not done so the last two nights. He looked over at the corner of his office, and the divan there on which he had spent two nights of very fitful and very lonely sleep. 

"Want me to come over?" Hoshi asked softly. 

Every fibre in his body was screaming, 'Oh God, yes, please come!' He wanted to beg her to make love to him without having to remember T'Pol's perpetually sad eyes. He wanted her to be the exorcist who freed him from the urge to console the devastated Vulcan by taking her in his arms. But he couldn't jump over his own shadow.

Shadows. His life had always held too many shadows. There had been a time when he’d thought he’d won free of them, but it seemed he was still what he’d always been – an unfaithful little shit who couldn’t even keep his desire fixed on the woman of his dreams, the woman he’d promised to honour and cherish,  forsaking all others.  These exact words – as the Eldest Mother had pointed out – were never really spoken during their wedding vows. There had been – strictly speaking – not even a phrase that restricted those vows to Hoshi alone, but that were all semantics. The fact had been implicit for as long as wedding vows had been taken on Earth. There was no variant that amended them with ' or someone you cherish in equal love'.

"I'd prefer someone stays with T'Pol. She's been quite unstable lately." He was still a good liar, too. His voice was commendably even. The sound of it made him feel sick with self-disgust.

His heart cramped when he saw his wife's accepting nod that came way too soon for his comfort. He knew that either T'Pol's condition was even worse than expected, or Hoshi had not even expected to be with him tonight and had just called pro-forma to collect another polite 'no, thank you'.

“I love you,” she said softly.

He wanted to reply, but the words stuck in his throat. He just nodded, and tried to smile, pantomiming a blown kiss as he closed off the link.

He downed another whiskey and started working on his business proposal to Starfleet. Getting this contract was something he could do to take his mind off the hollow grinding of uselessness and guilt that was the tenor of his life these days.

=/\=

"Is he staying in the office again?” 

Hoshi looked over at T'Pol and nodded sadly in answer to the question. Her heart cramped when she saw the utter sorrow in the Vulcan's eyes. 

They had divided most of their days between visiting Trip in the hospital and getting started on their research. She had watched yet more of the life drain from T’Pol’s eyes with every disappointing visit to the hospital over the last two months since the  Marconi  had finally reached Earth to transfer almost two hundred heavily wounded casualties to various clinics all over the planet. 

Both she and her friend were people with little need for creature comforts, so even though T'Pol and Malcolm were the only ones actually earning money, they didn't need to be too miserly. The fact that T'Pol had taken to growing much of her food herself had helped a lot, too. Fuerteventura was dry and hot, making Vulcan plants thrive on the otherwise nutrient-poor soil of the island. 

The house had needed little modification to facilitate the eventual return of Trip. One of the previous owners had been a quadriplegic, so despite only having two storeys, the house was equipped with a large enough elevator to fit a wheel chair and there were no steps or kerbs anywhere in it. The only major changes they had made was the erection of a high, opaque fence around the estate and the exchange of one-way mirror glass for the originally plain glass in the windows. T'Pol, still stubbornly insistent and convinced that Trip would wake up, was hell-bent that nobody should catch even a glimpse him in his expectedly pitiful state. But with every passing day the wait became more and more of a burden for the Vulcan. 

Hoshi sighed silently. For all intents and purposes the house was perfect to accommodate her habit of not wearing clothes at home, but it didn't feel as good anymore. Malcolm – on the increasingly rare occasions he could be bothered to come home to them at all – didn't even touch her; lately he seemed hardly able to look at her. The fact that Trip wouldn't be able to see her really sank in when she realized that she would never again notice the little looks he had stolen at her naked body, thinking that she didn't notice it. Hard on the realization of that came a wave of self-contempt: he’d lost his eyesight and all she could find to worry about was the fact that she wouldn’t be getting any more illicit kicks from his admiration! Except for when she was going to bed she had all but abandoned her once favorite habit. 

Three days ago a large delivery of five electric wheelchairs had arrived, paid for by Malcolm's company. In one of the rare times on which they could actually get Malcolm to talk about Trip, they had decided that they would produce a small number of prototypes, and once in use by Trip, would improve them until they worked perfectly for him. Once that was done, it was planned that Malcolm's company would mass produce them – another potentially lucrative source of income.

The reasons for that were obvious. T'Pol had discovered via her network of contacts that no fewer than two hundred humans alone had lost both sight and use of their legs in the fights with the Romulans. And neither Starfleet nor the Government was investing anything into research. Unfortunately, that arrangement was the most Malcolm had involved himself in Trip's recovery so far. 

She sighed a second time, thinking about her absent husband. It wasn't so hard to see what he was running away from. He hardly ever talked about Trip anymore. He had visited him almost daily until recently, but it didn't take telepathic abilities to see how hard he was hit by Trip's physical decline. And there was still the sword of Damocles hanging over their marriage as she had not yet found the courage to admit that she had fallen in love with Trip; but then neither had her husband yet disclosed his own guilty secret – she had known for some time that he had also grown more than fond of T’Pol.

T'Pol had never shown any sign of feeling threatened by the knowledge that her mate was now desired by two of them. She had encouraged Hoshi to kiss him upon arrival or when leaving after hospital visits, and the fact that she let her visit him alone if her duty schedule did not allow her to come along was a great sign of acceptance. Normally she should be happy, but she couldn't shake the guilt of having betrayed the vows she had taken before Malcolm and the world. It was all a hideous mess. 

It would have been easy to use the cheap cop-out and blame Malcolm for 'driving' her into the arms of another man, considering that currently their marriage existed merely on paper; but it would be patently unfair towards Malcolm as, first, the attraction to Trip had developed at a time when their marriage couldn't have been in better shape and, second, it would fail to address the reasons for their current crisis. 

It had taken Malcolm almost four months to work through the aftermath of his mind-rape by the section and the cold-blooded murder of Tolaris. She wasn't sure that he had really put all that behind him forever, but at least the nightmares had stopped. But how was she supposed to help him overcome the current crisis? Sure, it could become better once Trip woke up, and Phlox's recent message that they would now start to induce the waking-up phase made that a rather hopeful prospect. But would Malcolm really cope better with seeing Trip working around his disabilities? Considering that she could barely cope with the reality of his blindness herself, it didn't sound realistic that Malcolm could. And neither she nor T'Pol had a solution ready to help Malcolm, even though all four of them had promised to look out for each other. Leaving Malcolm alone with his problems was just another notch on her guilty conscience. 

She shook herself out of her thoughts and saw T'Pol ready to go downstairs for the night. 

“T'Pol,” she called out softly to stop her retreat. “I would like that you sleep up here today.”

“I will get a pillow and a blanket,” the Vulcan agreed with a nod.

“No need to, our bed has everything and I've changed the sheets and covers today.”

Seeing the surprised look on the Vulcan's face, as she obviously realized that Hoshi had meant sharing the big double bed, she provided the explanation.

“T'Pol, we've both been sleeping lousily lately. After such a long time neither of us is used to sleeping alone. I've heard you cry yourself to sleep last night and it broke my heart. And we both know how far your control must be gone to make you cry openly. We've both promised each other to stop at nothing to help Trip. And that includes taking care of his wife.”

She saw that T'Pol was too tired to argue and just nodded instead. Standing up, she took the Vulcan's hand and wrapped her in a hug. The gentle consolation, which was more or less the only intimate touch her friend had ‘enjoyed’ in more than half a year, was too much and the other woman broke down almost at once, weeping. Hoshi held her gently as T'Pol failed to fight the tears. 

=/\=

T'Pau walked along the narrow corridor towards the only door from which light still emanated at this late hour. She would have to speak to Malcolm about the security measures in his company. The fact that he as a former security officer had not trained his security staff enough to know the company rules was worrying. It only strengthened her impression that he was not himself lately. 

Since an internship was mandatory as part of her schooling, Malcolm had hired her about a month ago. She would probably be the first Vulcan ever to serve her internship in a human factory as opposed to one of the many spiritual retreats or shipyards on Vulcan outposts. So technically, she had the right to be on the premises, but the security detail at the factory entrance should know that workers who were not part of production were not supposed to be inside the factory after 10pm. It could land him serious trouble with the authorities. 

She entered the office unasked and gasped in shock when she saw a nearly empty bottle of hard liquor on his desk. Malcolm was still working on some sort of document, but she doubted the quality of the result would stand up to scrutiny. Since she was responsible for proof-reading company communication, she had noticed that over the last ten days some of his documents had been written in unacceptable quality, requiring a lot of correction. 

“Would it not be better if you stopped writing documents while inebriated?” she asked when he didn't acknowledge her presence.

“T-T'Pau,” he said, his speech slurred from the influence of ethanol. “You're not supposed to be here this late.”

“Tell that to your security detail at the entrance,” she replied and brazenly shoved him back into his chair when he got up, most likely to call – and probably dismiss – the security employees currently on duty. Robbed of his balance by the debilitating substance he’d consumed, he fell back onto his office chair heavily. He glared at her, but she held his infuriated gaze. 

His face, for once unguarded, showed too clearly the extent of his distress. He looked haggard and ill. He was unshaven, and that, for a man who’d always taken some pride in always appearing scrupulously neat and tidy, told a tale in itself.

“What are you doing, Malcolm?” she asked more gently, deviating from the formal 'Mr. Reed' she used during work hours. “Your wife, T'Pol and Charles are depending and relying on you and you inebriate yourself, putting the company’s competitive chances in danger by producing incoherent documents that take me hours to correct. Do you really believe poisoning yourself will solve the problems that you face?”

“Is this you or the Eldest Mother talking?” he returned sourly.

“I can think for myself,” T’Pau answered, and sat down not far from him. His gaze was unfocused but remained aimed in her direction. She judged him to be not completely inebriated, although she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, considering the amount of the substance he had already ingested. 

“It’s just a bloody mess,” he admitted and she could see tears threatening to flow; a loss of control which he tried to disguise by pushing a shaky hand across his eyes. His normally strong emotional restraint was all but gone under influence of alcohol. 

She reached over and took his hand, which prompted him to look up at her and pull his hand free.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said with a bitter, exhausted smile. “With my luck I’d end up falling in love with you as well.”

“That’s, how would you say, ‘bollocks’,” T’Pau insisted and got a slightly more genuine smile in return at her use of invective – surprising, to say the least, in a Vulcan. “First of all, I’m way too young and second, I’m not T’Pol.”

Her words had evidently touched a nerve. His mouth tightened. His eyes held her off like leveled blades.

“Don’t tell me the Eldest has given you all that palaver about how irrelevant our wedding vows are too. They aren’t irrelevant, dammit.”

“In your case, they are,” she stated flatly. “You made yours despite the fact that you were attracted to both Hoshi and T’Pol, and she did the same while being attracted to Charles and you in the same fashion. You both hid behind a traditional ritual to avoid having to deal with the fact that tradition has no definitive guidance on how your lives have developed.”

She could see that he didn’t have an answer to that. How could he – she had seen his mind during the mind meld on the station. 

“That Hoshi and Trip love each other has been obvious for quite some time,” he said sadly, dropping his gaze to the floor. “When I realized, I … I didn’t know how to react. I thought we’d been happy, but I obviously wasn’t enough for her. Otherwise, why would she..” He broke off with a soft, bitter laugh, plainly recognizing the irony. “I thought she still loved me, but how do you know when something like that happens? I thought if I didn’t say anything, maybe she’d … but whether he’d have… Heck, I’m not even sure I’d have been upset if they’d acted on it, got it out of their systems. Not that they ever could now, now that Trip’s…”

He stopped mid-sentence and his emotions broke through the last of his defenses. He rested his face in his palms and the tears began trickling between his fingers. He made no sound, but his shoulders heaved in a shattering sob.

“I do not understand,” she said softly. “The four of you did everything together, except for sexual relations. It will be like that again. Charles will wake up. He is my En’ahr’at if you remember and therefore I get to know at least some of the details of his recovery. I know that tomorrow they will start taking him out of the artificially induced coma.”

She saw him look up in a mixture of hope and awful despair. His eyes were drowned, but they held her gaze steadily enough.

“You make it all sound so easy, but it isn’t, T’Pau,” he insisted. 

“Then explain it to me.”

“You’re right. We did everything but having sex together. But that’s the point. For humans, being in love involves intimacy. It’s an important part of showing someone you love him or her. Now Trip, even if he wakes up, can’t even make love to them anymore. And what am I supposed to do? Help myself to both the girls – assuming either of them actually want me? While he can only watch? Fuck it, he can’t even watch! And even if he could –” he swallowed another sob – “what the fuck would that do to him? I know what it’d do to me!”

He sprang to his feet.

She observed him pace the room, his gait unsteady.

“You are consumed by guilt.”

“Bloody hell, yes I am! How can I not be?” he screamed in agony. The face he turned towards her was beaded with sweat. His chest rose and fell jerkily as he gulped at air, trying not to break down again.

Having seen into his katra so deeply, she understood more of the pressures that were destroying him than he did. For him, his love was in direct conflict with his honor – the honor that meant more to him than almost anything else. The honor in which he had been raised, which demanded he should sacrifice everything rather than betray his given word.

Nevertheless, understanding him did not mean that she should stand by and allow him to destroy himself and annihilate the other three members of his putative quad without lifting a finger to stop him. This was a case where he could, and should, benefit from a dose of cold-blooded Vulcan pragmatism.

“And it clouds your judgment,” she continued calmly. “Instead of destroying yourself, you should look for ways to help Charles. You can have the monetary resources if you concentrate on winning the Starfleet contract instead of drinking and pitying yourself.”

She could see his enraged glare at her in response to the irreverent address. But he needed to hear it now, as in the morning he would be ‘Mr. Reed’ again – she would never show him disrespect in front of his employees. 

“Doctor Phlox will need resources for research. You could hire him as the company’s medical officer. If we get the contract, this factory will need to grow to a size where one is needed. You could easily provide him with the resources to research ways to help Charles. It would be a much greater sign of your affection for T’Pol to give her Charles back than just engaging in sexual relations with her, no matter how important the latter is for humans.”

She watched as he sat back on the desk chair, ready to grab the bottle again. His hand stopped halfway and instead he made a violent slashing movement with the blade of it. With a loud  clunk the bottle landed in the rubbish bin. 

For a time he said nothing, just sat staring darkly at the table. Then he lifted his head and faced her. “I hear all that, T’Pau, and you’re right. But the truth is, even if we get the Starfleet contract, we don’t have the resources to fund the necessary expansion and the banks aren’t charitable institutes. I’d love nothing more than to build Phlox a huge bloody laboratory. Heck, I’ve even thought about trying to get access to that madman Arik Soong. With his knowledge about genetics, he must have something up his sleeve.”

“Which alternative methods of procuring funds have you explored?” she asked calmly. 

“How many are there? We’re too small a company to be floated at the stock-exchange, and after getting away with the murder of Tolaris, I’m not going to push my luck by robbing a bank.”

“What about our clan? Charles, T’Pol and I are members of it. You and Hoshi are associated members as En’ahr’at of Lorian and I get to hear every day that the Eldest Mother is quite fond of you. I imagine we could certainly make a convincing case that the clan should invest in the company.”

His mouth dropped open, and with an amusedly raised eyebrow she reached forward and lifted his chin with her index finger. 

“It is something we will talk about when your mind is clear. It would be prudent to retire now.”

Not giving any protest, he shrugged off his rumpled business suit and staggered towards the divan in his underwear. He fell heavily down on it, face first, and she helped him become comfortable. 

“How come you’re here this late anyway?” 

“I was taking a walk and saw there was still light in your office. Seeing that this was the third day in a row it has happened, I became concerned – and as we saw, not without reason,” she said, pulling up the blanket over him. 

“T’Pau, thank you. I think that was the kick in the bum I needed.”

She said nothing, but just nodded her acceptance. 

“Would you make an appointment tomorrow for when Phlox wants to start waking up Trip?” 

“I will. Good Night, Malcolm.”

Without waiting for the answer, she took the rubbish bag with the bottle in it out of the paper bin and switched off the lights before she left his office. 

=/\=

Hoshi woke up, well rested for the first time in many days. T’Pol’s head was resting on her chest. It had been a harrowing experience to hold the Vulcan for two hours while she wept, unable to stop the tears. She knew only too well if it went as far as openly crying, T’Pol was neglecting her meditation; and she would have to pay more attention to that in the next days. 

She gently rubbed the other woman’s back to wake her up as they would have to be in Berlin in four hours. Slowly T’Pol came to and looked up to her. On a crazy impulse Hoshi kissed her. Before she knew what was happening, the Vulcan was on top of her, hungrily and eagerly returning the kiss. 

=/\=

With an overpowering urgency Hoshi drove her tongue into T’Pol’s mouth and reached down to grab the Vulcan’s buttocks. As they both had been sleeping naked there was no underwear or any other form of night clothing in the way of their roaming hands. 

She gently rolled T’Pol off her until the Vulcan came to lie on her back and she started to run the tip of her tongue along her lover’s torso until she had reached the towering breasts of her partner. Gently she started to suckle her nipples until they were rock hard and erect. She started twirling her tongue over the sensitive flesh around them, which was greeted by a series of low guttural moans and an arched back. 

The slender human felt the Vulcan’s hand roaming up her thigh in search of the sweet spot and she raised a leg to give her partner better access. Without much hesitation T’Pol stuck her middle and index finger into Hoshi’s drenched opening while gently starting to circle her pleasure knob. The young linguist’s vision swam in sheer lust as she felt the so thoroughly missed touch and she continued to pay even more attention to making her companion feel good, remembering that her Vulcan partner had been bereft of any intimacy for close to seven months now; and hell, she was beginning to feel pretty damn bereft of it herself lately.

After more pleasuring each other in the somewhat awkward position, Hoshi wiggled herself free and mounted T’Pol, thrusting her tongue in the Vulcan’s love triangle, while shoving her own gently into her partners face. She squealed in delight when she felt T’Pol’s tentative nibbling of her burning pleasure sport. Holding her lover’s lower body in place by grabbing her buttocks, she licked and slurped the Vulcan to a howling orgasm, following suit herself a few moments later. 

=/\=

Breathing heavily, the two women lay closely entangled, recovering from the first orgasms they had had in two and seven months respectively. What had started as a chaste ‘good morning’ kiss had ended in a furious – and quite desperate – bout of woman-on-woman love-making.

“We need to talk to Malcolm about what has happened,” T’Pol suggested, still out of breath.

Hoshi just nodded weakly, still caught in the simmering euphoria of the climax and the feeling of T’Pol’s soft skin on hers. 

“I’d say we drop by his company after our visit to the hospital. This time I won’t be brushed off.”

“That’s unfair Hoshi,” she heard T’Pol say. “He is not brushing you off deliberately. He is as caught up in his pain as we are. He merely copes differently, and without your intervention I submit my coping strategy wasn’t the most effective either.”

The Vulcan sat up and Hoshi did the same. Their bodies were still glistening with a thin layer of sweat.

“It is not difficult to see that Malcolm struggles to accept Trip’s physical decline. On top of it he is consumed by guilt about having fallen in love with me. I have spent enough time with him before our lives fell apart to make that distinction.”

“Is it a mutual feeling?” Hoshi asked, although she was sure she already knew the answer. 

The Vulcan closed her eyes and nodded. 

“I’m not angry T’Pol,” she said, taking the Vulcan’s hand. “How could I? I’ve fallen in love with Trip and you were more understanding than I could have ever expected. But I feel guilty, because Trip doesn’t get a say in this. He’ll wake up one day, burdened with enough problems to last a lifetime and we don’t know how he’ll feel about this. What are we going to do, T’Pol?”

“I don’t know the answer Hoshi. I simply don’t know.”

=/\=

“Doctor, may I have a minute?”

“Oh, Mr. Reed; It is good to see you.”

“I won’t ask any details until the girls arrive, but when they do I want you to tell us the whole bloody truth. We’re all distraught enough, but the last thing we need is false hopes.”

“I understand,” the Denobulan said. “There is not too much false hope I could give anyway without lying.”

Malcolm nodded grimly, understanding what Phlox was trying to say. 

“A question doctor; would you be willing to conduct further research into possible therapies if it was properly funded, and facilities and equipment were provided to your specification?”

“What therapies do you have in mind?” the Denobulan asked, his interest obviously piqued. 

“Whatever is possible. I doubt we could restore his sight without involving a cybernetics expert, and I’ll be working on hiring one, but perhaps we could make him walk again and one shouldn’t rule out the importance of restoring his sexual functionality. Due to his increased lifespan he and T’Pol have something like a century ahead of them in which they are supposed to be sexually active. Hell, even if the legs and the eyes take some time it would give him at least some quality of life back.”

Phlox eyed him thoughtfully.

“That would require very advanced genetic research, Mr. Reed, and your world is not known to be very comfortable with the thought.”

“I don’t give a flying toss about the world, doctor. We’re talking about Trip here. Whenever he can be released from hospital, I want to offer you the post of chief medical officer in my company. Since we adhere to the strictest work safety standards, I doubt you’d be too busy patching up injured workers, but it’d allow you to conduct research in a properly funded laboratory. And since we’re planning to build wheel chairs once T’Pol and Hoshi are done designing the prototype, we’ll have to get a license as a health research company anyway. That would allow us to legally conduct genetic research.” The slightly veiled gaze said that nobody would be too upfront about it if the aforementioned research happened to stray in directions which Earth’s scientific communities considered unethical.

“A most intriguing proposal, Mr. Reed, and if you can provide the environment you described, I would sign up with you in a heartbeat – as you humans are so fond of saying.”

“Thank you doctor. That means a lot to me. If you find the time to get started on those specifications – the earlier the better.”

=/\=

T’Pol walked into Trip’s ICU room, sporting a surgeon’s clothing, complete with face mask, as was required. They had been here so often over the last two months that all three of them had their own set of clothing, which after the visit went to the maintenance department for cleaning and disinfection and was ready again the next day. She was surprised to see Malcolm already seated next to Trip’s bed, holding his friend’s hand. 

She saw Hoshi walk over to him and take his hand. In absence of any ability to kiss, due to the masks, they put their foreheads together and remained in silence for a few moments. It was noticeable that Malcolm pulled away first.

The Vulcan took a seat on the opposite side of the bed, taking Trip’s right hand. She watched Hoshi approach Trip and deliberately lower the mask to kiss his unresponsive lips lightly. Considering that the young woman hadn’t done the same for her husband it was a clear message that she was expecting an explanation from Malcolm for his prolonged absence. T'Pol shook her head very slightly in Hoshi’s direction letting her know  that she didn’t consider that demonstration with favor, considering that they now had a lot more to confess than Malcolm – at least, as far as they were aware of, though she guessed that among Hoshi’s fears was the possibility that her husband’s increasing distance betokened an affair. It was, however, unlikely that a man so committed to fidelity would have been likely to stray, however unhappy he might be. 

It was impossible that Malcolm did not get that very pointed message from his wife. Nevertheless, his eyes did not give away much of a reaction. It was completely impossible to discern his emotional responses half as accurately with so much of his face covered by the mask, but all she could detect in his gaze at that moment was an exhausted, unhappy apathy.

The arrival of Phlox ended her mental soliloquy. 

“We will start reducing the amount of sedatives now over a period of one month,” the Denobulan explained without so much as a preamble.

“What sort of time schedule are we looking at, doctor?” she heard Malcolm ask, and T’Pol felt a little uneasy about the business-like sound of his inquiry. It sounded as if he had just asked when a new machine for his company would be delivered. 

“I cannot make any definitive predictions, but I expect no major signs of awareness within the first six weeks. From then on it will be a slow progress.”

“Can we do anything to help?” Hoshi’s question came almost instantly.

“If you can spare the time you could sit with him, talk, read to him, hold his hand,” Phlox explained. “We have no definitive knowledge of how aware his mind will be, but we know that patients who are being talked to generally recover faster and to a greater degree.”

“Deal!” Hoshi proclaimed and T’Pol knew immediately that the matter was non-negotiable. Not that she actually would want to negotiate; it seemed to be another ‘hint’ for Malcolm.

“Has his long-term prognosis changed in any way?” T’Pol asked. 

“Little,” Phlox said. “There are no longer any internal hemorrhages, so we can deduct that he will either remain in a persistent vegetative state or recover to full awareness. From the data I have gathered so far I would say the prognosis heavily favors the latter. If he wakes up to full alertness he will not be mentally disabled.”

T’Pol let out a sigh of relief, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to suppress it. 

“As far as his bodily functions are concerned, he will be paralyzed from the waist down and have no eyesight. We will continue research, and I would say at least the use of his legs and some sexual functionality should be restorable,” the doctor said with a look at Malcolm that she couldn’t quite decipher. “But I would not dare to make an estimation of how long it will take. We could succeed within a year, but it could just as well take us a decade.”

“When do you think this ‘reading and talking to’ routine starts making sense, doctor?” the Englishman asked, and she now felt a pang of anger as it still seemed to her as if he was approaching this like a business endeavor, dictated by the result of an effort/result analysis. 

“I would say two weeks from now at the earliest,” Phlox suggested. “Until then the concentration of sedatives is still too high.”

“Thank you doctor.” 

Evidently inferring from the dull tone that the questioning was over, the Denobulan left, though not before distributing encouraging smiles all round.

T’Pol stood up and walked over to Malcolm. She took his hand, ignoring the way he flinched from her grasp.

“Will you accompany us in a walk in the hospital park, Malcolm? Hoshi and I have some issues to discuss with you.”

  
  



	2. When a Man Loves a Woman

His gait was unsteady as he neared the coordinates he had received. At one hundred and sixty years he was by far not at the end of his natural lifespan, but the relative inactivity of the last years had taken a toll, especially if one took on a hostile environment like Vulcan’s Forge. 

Thankfully sand fires were extremely rare at this time of the year and predatory wild life could easily be avoided by spending the nights on the crest of a dune. Even after seventy years he could easily remember the old paths to the few wells that existed in this treacherous landscape.

The grave was easily found, not only because he had the precise coordinates, but also because, unlike traditional Vulcan graves, it was marked by a large black carved stone. On the left side was a carved statue of a young human female wearing feathered wings on her back. The polished front was ornamented with gilded human script:

_Vulcan has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal_

_-.-_

_Forever in our Thoughts and Prayers_

_Dear God have Mercy on the katra of_

_T’Les, daughter of T’Mir_

_She gave her life for the freedom of her people_

He sank to his knees, exhausted by the long journey and overcome by his grief. Here in the barren wilderness he did not need to hide his true nature. Touching the stone as if doing so would connect him one last time with his deceased mate, he screamed in agony, and Turius, who was now V’Nur again, wept bitterly.

=/\=

Malcolm walked slowly through the park with the women matching his sedate pace on either side of him. For no discernible reason Trip’s old-fashioned manners came to mind and following an impulse he offered one arm to each of them. Both gently put a hand in the crooks of his elbows.

He could tell that Hoshi was very moved by the gesture. Most likely not only because it was the first physical touch they had shared in many days, but also by the symbolic nod to their absent companion. They continued walking in silence until they found a piece of trimmed lawn near a small pond in the middle of the park. He held their hands as they sat down, before he joined them on the ground.

“I have spent many hours helping you to accept and interpret your emotions,” T’Pol started evenly. “But you suppress them again. Hoshi will testify that I have failed spectacularly at doing so. Tell us what drives you away from us Malcolm.”

He looked at the ground in shame, idly twisting a blade of grass as he searched for the right words.

“I’m terrified,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m terrified of my own reaction to when Trip is awake. I’ve been a shooting man all my life. The sheer thought of losing vision horrifies me. The realization that he will spend god knows how many years in darkness until someone has worked out a solution – I’m going mad over it.”

“Welcome to the club,” Hoshi said, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes.

“It will be the least of his problems,” T’Pol said calmly and Malcolm could see that Hoshi was equally surprised.

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

“For several reasons,” T’Pol explained. “He was not born blind. He knows and remembers the look of the objects he will feel with his fingers. As an engineer he had to work many times in cramped spaces where he had to rely on his tactile senses, and I know from experience how quickly the tactile senses sharpen when one has no use of sight. During and after sexual climax I temporarily lose vision and after some time to get used to the condition I am almost effortlessly able to navigate familiar surroundings instead of remaining still until my vision returns. It can take up to thirty minutes depending on the intensity of the encounter.”

Seeing that Hoshi did not react with much surprise to T’Pol’s intimate revelation, he looked hard at his wife.

“You knew that already, didn’t you?”

He could see Hoshi blush and she looked down. Then she drew a deep breath.

“I’ve seen it firsthand this morning, Malcolm.”

It wasn’t the shock it perhaps should have been. His career in the Section had honed his naturally acute powers of observation, and he’d been aware almost immediately that the interaction between the women had been different.  Add to that the fact that he was well acquainted with the signs of sexual satiety in his wife, and knew that the two of them had been spending a great deal of time together lately, and it didn’t take a mathematics expert to put two and two together and come up with ‘four’.

“I take that to mean you had sex with T’Pol.” He stated the obvious, careful not to make it sound like a reproach.  

Hoshi nodded and started sobbing in shame. He reached over, took her hand and kissed it gently.

“I think it was only a matter of time until it would happen,” he said soothingly, seeing T’Pol and Hoshi look at him, both plainly flabbergasted by his acceptance of the revelation.

He shrugged. “Let’s start with the fact that the two of you have been close since forever. Add to that that I’ve been a selfish, egocentric bastard and neglected Hoshi because I’ve been too busy running away from my problems. And frankly…”

He could see Hoshi’s head shake in an effort to absolve him from the self-reproach, but he forestalled the reaction by raising his hand in her direction.

The next bit was going to be difficult.  Hellishly difficult.  Part of it was something that he’d concealed for a long time; it had too many associations with the Section.  He’d always been heterosexual by inclination, but working undercover the use of your body was just another thing you sold - much like your conscience, though at least you got your body back afterwards…. He took a deep breath of his own, and it wasn’t as steady as he’d have liked it to be.

“I’m the most inhibited among us and I’ve had intimate dreams of all of you… even Trip.”

He bit his lip to prevent an emotional reaction, remembering that the latter dreams would remain just that due to Trip’s injuries. Colour scorched his face, and it was with an effort that he glanced up to assess his wife’s reaction to his confession.

It was obvious, however, that she regarded his inadvertent nocturnal adventures as far less grave than her own fall from grace.  At a guess she hadn’t had time to process it properly; he grasped in half-shameful relief at the thought that she didn’t realize how closely his dreams sometimes mirrored his waking fantasies.

“You’re not upset?” she asked in disbelief. He could literally see her anxiety at what his answer would be.

“Were you upset? I just admitted dreaming about T’Pol.”

Hoshi shook her head again.  She looked totally bewildered, and he gave a faint, wry smile.

“I can only speak for myself,” he said. “I am fine with it. Let’s face it - what right have I got to complain?  If I’d never got so wrapped up in my self-pity party it might never have happened.”  He shrugged.  It was starting to hurt, and he had a lot of mental readjustments to make, but that was something he’d have to do in the privacy of his own mind.  Inwardly his smile grew bleaker; that too was a legacy of the Section.  “I love both of you and the fact that you are intimate with each other doesn’t change that. You’ll have to justify it before your consciences and before Trip. It will hurt him in any case. The damage is already done. The pain might be less for him if it was one desperate misstep instead of a repeated occurrence. It is a question you must answer for yourselves.” 

If he was honest it was a question he himself would have liked to know the answer to.  The pain might be less for him too, for now there was a void of uncertainty where before there had been security.  Was it a one-off, was it just something that would happen now and again, now that Hoshi had revealed her bisexual side, or was it a subtle signal that his marriage was heading for the scrapheap?  A ‘misstep’ was something that could be forgiven and forgotten - he was speaking honestly enough there - but if it was something that had to be factored into his relationship, that would take some coping with.  And if it was just the writing on the wall for his marriage, well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had experience of relationship breakups, though this one would hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced in his life.

He saw the accepting nods from both women, and congratulated himself on still being able to show nothing of the complexity of his thoughts.

“Will you come home?” Hoshi asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know, love,” he admitted. “What about T’Pol? Since I suppose you two were sleeping in the same bed. Will we send her downstairs? I might drop by in the mornings and the evenings, but I don’t think I’ll stay the nights. My long days weren’t all excuse and it gives me some sense of purpose.”

He could see that he was hurting his wife, but he saw no other way to solve this. His heart ached at having to disappoint her.

Her response - or lack of it - on who would be occupying the other half of her marital bed from now on hadn’t exactly been reassuring either.

It seemed that loneliness would be something he’d have to get used to all over again.

=/\=

Slowly his tears started to dry up and the long process of healing from his grief started to begin, though its immediate manifestation was a vast, aching, exhausted void. He was still touching the human-made tombstone.

“Charles had it made and transported here almost two years ago. I find myself quite attached to the memorial.”

V’Nur turned around slowly when he heard Soval’s voice.

“You have followed me.” The Romulan stated the obvious. “Do you no longer trust your security detail?”

“I wanted to satisfy myself that the Eldest’s advocacy for your return to the clan was not misplaced.”

“Have you?”

“Not even a Romulan can feign grief to that extent. Your motives are genuine. I welcome you back into the clan… brother.”

Stunned by Soval’s acceptance, V’Nur returned the offered greeting of kinship. He still remembered every single detail of it.

=/\=

T’Pol quietly steered the shuttle home. They had dropped Malcolm off at his factory and taken the time to tour the facility. In his office he had confessed about his heavy drinking over the last few days and recalled the events of the last night when – in his words – T’Pau had ‘all but literally bashed some sense into my thick skull’.

Hearing about his plans to establish a research laboratory for Phlox had renewed their hope and for the first time she wasn’t consumed by hopeless despair.

“Where are we going?” Hoshi asked.

“To a sex shop,” T’Pol replied dryly and heard Hoshi gasp. “We need blindfolds.”

She could see Hoshi relax again as her young friend probably began to suspect her intent.

=/\=

Phlox studied the readouts on the bio-monitor and nodded with satisfaction. Less than twenty-four hours after starting the gradual reduction in anesthetics, the life-signs of Trip started to improve markedly. Some low-level brain activity had started, freeing him of the worry that Trip would die without the machinery that had kept him alive for the last six months.

If no unexpected complications presented themselves they could try to remove the breathing intubator from his throat within a month.

“I am coming to the conclusion that the danger of remaining in a persistent vegetative state is diminishing with every brain region that starts functioning,” the Denobulan dictated into his recording device. “It is too early to extrapolate the full extent of the recovery, but in the short time the patient’s lifesigns have improved slightly better than expected. The process will be long, but the prognosis improves with every day.”

=/\=

One month later, Nov 10th 2157

T’Pol sat in their modified wheel chair. Her eyes were covered up by the blindfold.

“Cheese,” Hoshi commanded and T’Pol carefully moved her hand towards the memorized position that the plate with the cheese occupied on the breakfast table every day. Her first attempt missed the plate by a few inches, but her roaming hand found it quite quickly.

“Drink.”

T’Pol’s hand reached for the right side of the table, deliberately stopping short of where the container would be. If it was a bottle she would possibly topple it over by trying to grab it. Instead she carefully pushed her finger tips along the table cloth until she found its bottom. It was indeed a glass bottle and by feeling the shape, she could tell it was a beer bottle. Her finger tips searched the body of the bottle until she had found the Braille label that Hoshi applied to all food containers that required reading. Carefully she ran middle and index finger over the embossed dots on the paper.

“Staropramen, Export. Consumable until… Dec 15th.”

“Correct,” Hoshi confirmed.  Then, after a moment, “Milk?” 

“Door, lowest shelf, right side.” Her memory supplied the information after a moment.

“Correct.”

“Navigation: Refrigerator, left side access, ten centimeters,” T’Pol commanded and pressed the start button on the small console in the armrest. The wheelchair started backing away from the table, pivoted and navigated the kitchen, coming to a stop ten centimeters to the right of the left-hand refrigerator door. She grabbed the handle and opened the door. After checking the label with her fingers, she took out the bottle and closed the door again.

“Navigation: Kitchen table, north side, central position,” she commanded and pressed the button, but had to stop the travel when she sensed that the wheelchair took a wrong turn. Pressing the reset button the device backed up to the nearest programmed object, which, after feeling her surroundings, she found to be the communications console. Consulting the memorized kitchen layout, she deduced that the device had misinterpreted her command and was about to deliver her to the small coffee table.

After she had repeated the command more slowly the wheelchair brought her to the correct position. She carefully searched the table top for the glass, finding it precisely in its designated place. She raised it and cautiously tilted it until the bottle-neck and the rim of the glass made light contact. She started pouring slowly, making judgments by the sounds of the liquid and the increasing weight of the glass. A light beep sounded more and more frequent as the filling level rose, to help her accuracy.

She put the glass in its designated place, followed by the bottle, feeling the area with her little finger for obstructions before setting each item down. Removing the blindfold, she checked the situation. The bottle was slightly out of place, by nearly 10 centimeters in fact, but the glass was accurately placed.

“The salad is out of place,” she said with some disapproval, and put it to its correct location on the table.

“Great job, T’Pol!” Hoshi’s congratulatory tone overrode her disappointment most agreeably.

“We will have to improve the navigation software,” the Vulcan analyzed. “The direction changes are still too abrupt. And the voice recognition is still too unreliable.”

“I’ll have a look into the voice recognition,” the other woman promised and made a note on her PADD.

“Hoshi, why have you abandoned your habit of going unclothed in our home?” The question was an impulsive one, out of the blue, and she saw Hoshi become pensive.

“I’m just trying to get used to it again,” Hoshi admitted. “I don’t want to hurt Trip. You know how much it amused him to steal looks at me. It would drive him mad knowing that I’m whizzing about naked and he can’t see it. It would constantly remind him of what he has lost.”

“He could still appreciate our physique,” T’Pol argued. “He would merely use different means.”

She could see a fleeting smile on Hoshi’s face. “If he had to touch what he used to look at, we’d be perpetually aroused, T’Pol.”

“It would make it easier for him to tell us apart. My nipples extend further than yours when erect,” she replied dead-pan.

The laugh in reply was short, but T’Pol nonetheless appreciated the sound. It had become exceedingly rare.

“Don’t you think size would give him a hint?” It was obvious to her that Hoshi’s amusement was feigned, and covered real insecurity. “I barely have any boobs. Trust me; he doesn’t need to check our nipples.”

“You are self-conscious about your bust size?”                                                         

“Always was,” she admitted. “I’m seriously considering a boob job. They don’t need to be as big as yours, but at least something to fill a small C cup.”

The words seemed to have broken her companion’s hard-held self-control.  Hoshi suddenly burst into tears.

Standing up out of the wheelchair, T’Pol took her in her arms, consoling her distressed friend.

“What is wrong, Hoshi?”

“Look at me,” the slender human lamented. “Trip has all the problems in the world and I’m complaining about my fucking tits!”

“Don’t blame yourself,” T’Pol said, stroking Hoshi’s hair. After she had shaved her head after the injuries of the battle, this had grown back to about the nape of her neck.

After a moment the embrace was returned, and the two of them stood entwined, giving each other what comfort they could.  Even if it wasn’t much, just at that moment.

=/\=

Malcolm bounded into his office, in a good mood. He had almost forgotten how it was to feel good. T’Pau was waiting for him there, and boisterously he grabbed her in a hug and swirled her around.

“He’s breathing! He’s breathing!” he exclaimed in a relief, laughing and wet-eyed

“This is most welcome news,” the bewildered Vulcan agreed once he had set her down.

He opened his suitcase and took out a bottle of beer, earning himself a somewhat reproachful look from his personal assistant. He opened the bottle by slamming the cap of on the side of his desk. The Brit ignored her glare and took a long swig, emptying half the bottle in one go.

“It’s not all,” he said. “We’ve made the final selection for the Starfleet contract, too. We better get started on pleading our case to the clan.”

He saw a ‘whooping and cheering’ eyebrow creep north on her face.

“Who are we competing with?”

“Embraer Industrial. They don’t stand a chance.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Our prototype exceeds Starfleet specs by over 20 percent, can be modulated, and our generators can produce different shapes. It’s based on a design I came up with two years ago on Jupiter Station. When they see that our force field design can seal plasma leaks, they’ll jump on it like a pack of dogs on a three-legged cat.”

“They could still beat us with the costs. Embraer is much bigger than our company. They could cross-subsidize the project.”

“You’ve been doing your homework, haven’t you,” he said with a satisfied smile. “They can’t. I’ve cashed in a few favours. Embraer is not in good shape. Their Mark VI shuttle has flopped badly and their restructuring program doesn’t yield properly. They can’t afford to bid under price. They need to make money on it, while we have just launched the 850 kilojoules design. We barely can keep up with demand. Heck, I could even pay myself a dignified salary this month.”

“I will start writing the business proposal,” she said. She didn’t ask the nature of the ‘favours’, and he’d known she wouldn’t.  After what she’d seen of his past, she could probably make an informed guess.

“No you won’t start right now,” Malcolm answered, looking out of the window. “Handy Smurf is waiting for you in front of the gate. Make yourself scarce darling, you always let the poor boy wait.”

“His name is Trok!” T’Pau insisted and Malcolm smiled at the green blush on her cheeks. But then she pivoted and walked briskly out of the office. He opened a second bottle, watching her cross the concrete area rather hurriedly.

He smiled when he saw her embrace the Andorian after walking out of the gate. But he also saw another well known figure approach – T’Pol.

And at that, the smile faded.

=/\=

“I take it Trok was waiting to meet T’Pau?” she asked as she walked into Malcolm’s office.

“He’s been waiting for her every single day for the last two weeks,” he confirmed. “I take it you’ve gotten the good news already?”

“I just came in from the hospital. Trip’s parents are with him.”

She noticed the beer bottle in his hand and eyed it with suspicion.

“Save your breath, love. My PA watches over me like a hawk. I’ve not drunk anything for over a month. But today I want to get hogwashly bladdered. It’s been ages since we had reason to celebrate.”

“This once,” she said with a permissive nod. “Please don’t make it a habit. We have enough worries to keep us awake at night.”

Something moved behind his eyes at that, but it was gone in an instant; it was even possible to wonder if she’d imagined it.  When he spoke, however, his voice was completely normal.

“Don’t worry T’Pol, I promise – just today. Things will get hectic anyway. I’m ninety-nine percent sure we’ll win the Starfleet tender.”

“Good news indeed,” T’Pol said. “I have come to speak with you about a delicate matter before you inebriate yourself.”

She saw his nod, and to emphasize his seriousness, he put the bottle on the table.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Have you noticed that Hoshi is self-conscious about her bust size?”

He nodded again.

“I’ve always tried to build up her self esteem, but never quite got her to stop sulking over her boobs.  I don’t give a toss about the size. To me they’ve always been gorgeous.”

“I have spoken with Phlox. There is a non-invasive hormonal method to stimulate growth of adipose tissue in adult females. The potential growth is limited in comparison to augmentation by implants, but Phlox is convinced that the sixteen centimeter difference between underbust and bust circumference that Hoshi considers desirable could be achieved by hormonal treatment.”

“I’m fine with that,” he agreed. “Everything that makes her feel better about herself is more than fine with me and Trip will have something to ‘look at’ during their card games. It’s one of the few pleasures he’ll have available.”

She could see Malcolm look down in a somber mood at that admission, and decided to risk it.

“You are not upset by the thought of Trip touching your wife intimately?”

At that, he glanced up again. “T’Pol, they love each other,” he said, with a resigned look. “Do you really think I would keep them apart? A month ago T’Pau read me the Riot Act, right here in this room. And the most remarkable thing she said was that she thought our wedding vows were irrelevant, because when we married Hoshi loved both me and Trip and I loved you and her. I’ve spent the best part of the month in denial, but the pep talk from the Eldest Mother keeps popping up in my head.”

She looked at him in surprise. She had not known that the Eldest had spoken to him on the subject.

He stood up suddenly, and moved to the window.  He looked out through it, but she suspected he wasn’t seeing the view.

“‘And I ask you Malcolm Stuart Reed, do you take this woman to be your wife? Do you promise to love her and comfort her, to honor her, and keep her in sickness and in health, in prosperity and adversity, as long as you both shall live?’” he recited. “Those were the exact words you asked me. From all the vows available, you selected the ones that didn’t have the ‘forfeiting all others’ part. Now I don’t know if it was a conscious decision…”

The silence that followed was charged. She knew that an indirect question had been posed, and that he both wanted and needed an answer to it.

“I selected the vows because of the absence of any religious references,” she admitted at last. But considering that I was in the same predicament as the two of you, it might have influenced my decision.“

He turned around at that, and studied her for some minutes. The light from outside cast his face in sharp relief, but it was still difficult for her to tell what he was thinking.

“I realized the Eldest Mother was right, when I came to the conclusion that I’d gladly live with the fact that Hoshi’s sleeping with Trip, because it meant he actually could. I’ll wait to hear Trip’s opinion, but from where I’m sitting, I’ve come to the conclusion that the “First Quad” has outgrown the status of a joke among Andorians.”

T’Pol was moved by Malcolm’s open admission. She realized that it must not be easy to let go of something as hallowed as wedding vows, and nor would the actuality of it be easy for him to deal with if it ever happened, but the reality of their lives was irrefutable.

“I want to present the therapy to Hoshi as a New Years present. Would that be considered tasteless?”

“Only if I gave it to her,” Malcolm said. “It would look like ‘Hey, babe, I want you to have bigger jugs for me’. But coming from you, as the one she has confessed her self-consciousness to, it would actually be a rather thoughtful gift.”

She nodded her understanding.

“Do you wish me to stay with you tonight?” she asked him. “You have been sleeping all by yourself here or downstairs at home for the whole month. As much as I value your willingness to endure the solitude for my sake, it is unfair to let you carry the burden of an absent companion alone.”

She heard his self-deprecating snort.

“I’m much less gallant than you think, T’Pol,” he admitted. “If I was sharing a bed with either Hoshi or you, I would end up unable to withstand the temptation or I’d suffer like hell suppressing the urge.”

“Hoshi and I have agreed not to sleep with each other,” he continued. “Neither of us would be able to appreciate it due to the feeling of leaving you in a lurch. And I won’t touch you until Trip could make his views known. Imagine I would get intimate with you only to learn that Trip can’t live with the idea. I’m not going to hurt him.”

“Hoshi and I have also decided not to engage in further sexual encounters until we know Trip’s opinion.”

She saw the fleeting flash of an ironic bitterness at that statement: Hoshi hadn’t allowed herself to think of whether her husband couldn’t live with the idea before tumbling into bed with T'Pol. Nevertheless, he had accepted it, pain and all, as a development for which he was at least partly responsible, and he said nothing.  Whether the revelation of their current abstinence was any comfort to him, she couldn’t tell.

“You are a most honorable man, Malcolm,” she said sincerely and walked around his desk. She kissed him lightly on his lips. “Enjoy your beer. Hoshi and I will watch over Trip tomorrow. This will give you some additional time to sleep off your hangover.”

He smiled and she felt the gentle squeeze he gave her hand.

“Only today, T’Pol, I promise.”

=/\=

T’Pau carefully opened the door to Malcolm’s office in the morning. It was not the first time that she had come to work to find the company’s founder still sound asleep on his divan. Today however there was little point in speculating whether it had been late-night working that had worn him out.

No less than twelve beer bottles were neatly arranged in a basket and they were all empty. She had found a note on her PADD in the morning, sent from T’Pol, that she was to expect this situation and that both Hoshi and her En’ahr’at had consented not to worry about him inebriating himself for one time.

Sitting down at her console she started the ‘Autonomous sensory meridian response program’, which was a fairly pompous name for a routine that replaced the soft beeps of her keypad with the clicking sound of a historic human keyboard. She had by chance found out that the soft sounds created positive sensations in his mind, allowing him to find a more restful sleep.

He would get to hear the pleasing sounds for quite some time today as she started to type the business proposal to the clan’s legal advisors designed to convince them to undertake a substantial investment in a human company.

=/\=

Hoshi grabbed a slice of bread and with little effort her hand found the tub of butter.

T’Pol watched the movements of her blindfolded friend, satisfied by the fact that Hoshi had quickly learned the necessary accuracy of her movements to find objects solely by having memorized where they were. Over the last month setting the table in exactly the same layout day after day had become a routine for them to the point that even the one who was not blindfolded often caught herself picking up food without having to look up.

What elated her the most, however, was that her companion had rekindled her habit of foregoing any clothing except a pair of panties. It wasn’t so much for the view that was much more stimulating for the male contingent (when one was present of course). It was the feeling that Hoshi had started to heal back to her former life, and it was plainly visible that she felt much more at ease now that she could return to some of her former habits.

Her eyebrow shot up in amusement when Hoshi dropped a glob of honey from a spoon and the semi-liquid slowly meandered down the slope of her left breast. While she felt around for a napkin, following a mischievous impulse, T’Pol walked around the table and scooped up the little trace from the soft skin with her tongue, leaving Hoshi flushed from the momentary excitement.

Nevertheless, they had made a bargain. There was an exchange of half-regretful glances as she turned away again; even though the blindfold was still in place, she could interpret the tilt of the head without difficulty.

It had been too long, and the nights were torment.


	3. Hope and Despair

_5 weeks later, Dec. 20th 2157_

Travis walked towards his old room on the _Horizon_. His old ship, under the command of his brother Paul, had collected him from Salem One after offloading a large delivery of medical supplies.

He had always expected to return to his old home after his tour with Starfleet, but had always expected it to be much further in the future and certainly not because of losing an arm. He looked down his left side at the bionic limb they had fitted him with. At least for severed arms and legs, Starfleet had more than suitable remedies.

With the new arm, he could easily be able to pilot a ship, but unfortunately Starfleet had quietly discharged all the wounded. Anger rose up in his mind at the injustice of it. After the Xindi war and almost eighteen months of bloody fight against the Romulans they had really deserved better.

=/\=

“Is there any hope for him to come back to life with any more than a twitching finger?” Shran asked, his face scrunched in pity at the ailing man lying before his eyes.

He was nearly run over by the Denobulan physician, who raced past him, barely avoiding a collision. The doctor stared fascinated at the twitching digit, frantically scrolling through various readouts.

“Now there is, Captain. _Now_ there is,” the rotund alien belatedly answered the unexpected visitor's question, and Shran's antennae flexed back and forth in confusion.

“How can this be a sign of hope, doctor?” the Andorian asked with a frustrated gesture. “I sacrificed half my shore leave. I came here to see the man who single-handedly preserved one thousand three hundred Andorian blood vials. And it pains me to see him like that! He will not even have the honour to bring them to the wall of heroes as tradition demands.”

“It is a massive improvement,” the Denobulan insisted, much too cheerfully for Shran's taste.

“Is there anything to be done to heal his injuries?”

“In good time, captain. Neurological reconstruction, telepathic therapy, the options are plentiful.”

“Did you say telepathic therapy?”

“Yes, I believe the Betazoids could be persuaded to help. The human brain is a remarkably flexible organ and I think with telepathic irrigation I can stimulate little-used areas of the brain to adapt to functions of injured regions.”

“Is there any reason why a Betazoid is required?” Shran asked, his interest piqued. There was an opening to serve his leader in battle once again and he would not let that slip past him. “Could an Aenar do it?”

“The Aenar are even stronger telepaths than Betazoids, but they are also most sensitive creatures. The therapy will have most undesirable side-effects – pain, nausea – I doubt an Aenar would be comfortable with inflicting such discomfort.”

“Jhamel wouldn’t be comfortable with it, either,” Shran admitted with a hint of exasperation. “But she’s a lot more pragmatic than her fellow Aenar, who hold on to their principles for the sake of it. They would have let Jhamel's brother die a slow agonizing death, just so they could pride themselves on having followed their precious beliefs. She overcame her inhibition and risked her life for all of us when she tested Tucker's telepresence unit.”

Shran thumped his chest in pride of his mate's bravery. “He has led us in a great battle and if Starfleet is not willing to help him – _we are!”_

“If your wife is agreeable to the idea, I would indeed welcome every help I can get,” Phlox answered and started to record a very enthusiastic log entry, completely ignoring him.He’d encountered Phlox before so wasn’t as taken aback as he might have been by the Denobulan’s abstraction: it was just a sign of how deeply absorbed the man was in the care of his patient.

Shran shook his head and turned to go after telling the doctor that he would return the next week with Jhamel.

He wasn’t sure if the alien had even taken notice of it.

=/\=

“Has your search for employment with the humans been successful?”

T'Pau was walking through the park, allowing Trok to carry her hand in the crook of his elbow – a relatively modest gesture they had copied from human couples. The short embrace before the factory gate, where only very few people would ever see it, and this understated gesture of her hand resting on his arm were the only intimate touches she was comfortable with in public.

“I have two more 'job interviews' tomorrow,” her blue-skinned companion replied.

“I wish you would reconsider asking Mr. Reed. We have a demonstration for Starfleet tomorrow and unless something unforeseen happens, we will soon be hiring.”

“It would not work, dear. You know that Andorians are excitable at the best of times. Knowing you are nearby would be a constant distraction and my respect for Mr. Reed does not allow me to do a substandard ob.”

She stopped, looking at him seriously. “Will you at least reconsider if your other job interviews do not yield a positive result?”

“I will ask Mr. Reed if the other interviews fail,” he sighed and she raised a disapproving eyebrow. He made it sound like a defeat in battle. Trok could be so obstinate sometimes.

=/\=

_The next day..._

They stopped in front of the production hall and T'Pau made last-minute corrections to Mr. Reed's tie and collar. Except for that short time after starting the company, during which a large intake of alcohol had made him neglect his appearance, the company's owner was always very well dressed. She had to make only a few minor adjustments.

While she normally wore rather casual clothing, usually a pair of Jeans and a blouse, she had selected a 'proper look', as Hoshi had called it, when they had procured the garments. It consisted of a dark blazer and skirt assembly, a white blouse, a red scarf and high-heeled shoes. These last items were so unfamiliar to her that she had required prior training to walk in them in a dignified manner. She couldn't quite understand why human females chose foot gear that made the simple act of walking a hazardous undertaking, but Hoshi had insisted that they were befitting her current apparel.

The day before, after Trok had escorted her to her apartment, as he had done almost daily over the last few weeks, Hoshi had taken her to the hairdresser. After an excruciatingly long procedure to apply something called permanent waves to her hair (and in view of the fact that it had cost almost as much as all the clothes they had acquired, she hoped the result was justified), Hoshi had dropped by at Malcolm's office and gathered the Vulcan's long hair in a bun on the back of her head and applied an understated make-up.

T'Pau had not thought much of so much vanity and felt rather uncomfortable as the skirt showed a significant portion of her legs, but she had wanted the position in Mr. Reed's company and was unwilling to let her own insecurity prevent her from fulfilling her tasks to the best of her abilities, although, according to a not entirely serious statement by Hoshi, her task today would be ‘standing next to Mr. Reed and looking gorgeous'.

Inside her mind simmered a pleasant anticipation of the end of the working day. Hopefully by then they would have a positive decision from Starfleet and she could hardly wait to see Trok's reaction when he would be confronted with her modified appearance. Mr. Reed had certainly reacted positively to it, which had bolstered her confidence for the encounter.

Final preparations made, she preceded her superior into the spacious hall, after he had politely opened the door for her.

=/\=

“That'll be all, Mr. Harper.” Malcolm relieved his production manager of the task of keeping the seated ranks of assembled Starfleet dignitaries entertained. The audience was quite eclectic – Admiral Gardner himself, O'Riordan, Jeffries, and Anna Hess among at least three dozen other people.

Malcolm allowed himself a fleeting smile in her direction when he saw his former shipmate.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, first of all thank you for being here today. Most of you still know me. I'm Malcolm Stuart Reed, CEO of Reed _Industrial Research and Production Corporation_ , and the delightful Lady to my right is my assistant T'Pau of Vulcan.”

Malcolm knew that only Gardner, Hess and O'Riordan had met or seen T'Pau before, so they were the only ones who knew her history. Thankfully all three of them did a pretty good job of keeping their jaws off the ground when they saw the result of Hoshi's spectacular make-over of the former head of the Vulcan High Council.

He felt a pang of uneasiness when Anna sent him a knowing wink, reminding him what sort of mess his private life was already in without having intimate designs on his PA. Of course Anna couldn’t know that, as far as women were concerned, he was already oversupplied; or that he had no idea how to keep the complex relationships tidy, and _that_ didn't even take into account the fact that he also fantasized about the second male in their convoluted relationship. He quickly pushed those thoughts aside, concentrating on the task at hand.

“Of course we still know you, and I must remind myself not to call you Captain,” Gardner’s answer dragged him out of his musings. “But I assume you understand that your prior achievements have absolutely no bearing on the selection process, Mr. Reed.”

“I would have been quite disappointed were you prepared to assess our design differently from those of our competitors. As you and the rest of the selection committee know, I've done a thing or two right when I was in your service. That is exactly why I know better than anyone else that the people out there deserve the _best_ product, not the one manufactured by whom you _like_ best.”

The serious look on Gardner's face as he nodded understanding of his reply told the Brit that the admiral had got the message that _Reed Industries_ was equally expecting that the conditions under which their founder had resigned his commission would not influence the evaluation of their design.

“Before you start, Mr. Reed,” the admiral continued. “Since we evaluated the design presented by Embraer Industrial this morning, two of their representatives are here. This is Mr. Santos and this is his assistant Mrs. Oliveira do Nascimento.”

“We will wait outside if you find our attendance inappropriate,” the Brazilian representative of his opponent offered.

“They've taken you here all the way from Brazil, sir. I'm not going to send you out like a naughty child. And besides, I imagine you’ll find witnessing the winning design in action worth your time.”

Malcolm knew it sounded a trifle cocky, but he hadn't spent hour after hour drawing up the design to come second. Moreover, confidence in your product was a vital part of the selling process. He was the man who had built the first ever force field generator six years ago. And besides, with the mess that was his private life, it felt good to be in control of _something_ for a change.

=/\=

“If I may have your phase pistol, sir?” Malcolm asked and after a moment of hesitation Gardner handed him his weapon. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the two Starfleet Security types surreptitiously slide their own phasers out of the holster.

‘Good to know that Falks has done a bit of standard-raising in Security,’ the ex-security chief of _Enterprise_ noted dryly and set the weapon to kill, aiming it at the floor as any professional would.

The Security men were now targeting him directly. He looked across at them, asserting his old authority.

“I will now fire the weapon _at the force field_ ,” he explained with heavy irony for their benefit lest one of the weapons pointed at him would be fired. The audience tittered.

The equipment was set up to the left of the dais, and up till now had been hidden behind security screens. At his words the screens retracted, revealing his prototype within an array of monitoring devices. He pressed the control device, and the force field sprang into existence across the target, which was a sheet of white paper which would show the slightest mark of scorching if anything got through the protection. With a dull humming sound the beam impacted the field and ended right there. He released the trigger, secured the weapon and handed it back to Gardner. The security detail relaxed and put their weapons back into the holster.

O'Riordan checked his read-outs. He wasn’t the type to rely on the monitoring equipment supplied by a prospective contractor, though doubtless he’d examine the results from it later.

“You use less energy than specified, yet a three megajoule field should not withstand a phaser blast.” the rear admiral noted.

“It does, if the field frequency is in constant modulation,” Malcolm explained. “Granted, the programming job was a suitable punishment for someone who killed mom and dad, but then, we don't hire amateurs. We have some of the most talented programmers on the planet. Just ask IBM – they hate my guts for poaching some of their talent. They obviously haven’t yet grasped the concept of paying people proper wages.”

Amusement spread among the audience. One or two of them nodded, as though conceding a point.

“It's a breathtaking design, Mr. Reed,” Admiral Jeffries interrupted. “But what happens when the modulation algorithm fails?”

“It falls back to being an ordinary three megajoule force field,” Malcolm replied, and upon his nod T'Pau pressed two buttons on a nearby console. The force field changed its pattern and a concrete-laden sliding carriage driven by explosive compression sped towards it on tracks laid ready across the hall. With a zinging sound it impacted the field and stopped, springing back safely on the tracks as the automatic stabilization device cut in.

“No doubt, three megajoules; actually three point two,” O'Riordan commented, poking at his scanner.

Malcolm saw the long-suffering look on Gardner's face, while Anna looked as if she had just done something unseemly with her hand down the front of her panties. She was proud of him as a peacock, so much was obvious. He afforded her a second fleeting smile.

“So let me put that in simple words, Mr. Reed. You implemented _our specified parameters_ as a _failsafe emergency mode_ for a much superior solution that still undercuts our maximum energy allowance?”

Malcolm closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but it didn't prevent the tears gathering. For Trip’s sake, though, he wouldn’t let them fall.

“Admiral,” he started to speak and he was horrified when he heard his voice break. “Former Fleet Captain Tucker is still in a coma – eight months after the attack on the Romulan ship yards. And while it looks as if he might wake up – he will remain blind and bound to a wheelchair.”

His vision blurred by unshed tears, he pointed at the forcefield.

“This forcefield would have prevented two tons of metal falling down on him and crushing his skull. Our troops out there deserve the best! Too bad I was a year late developing it.”

There was a small stir as Anna Hess slumped in her seat, unconscious, and his emotions were momentarily overridden by a wave of concern and remorse when he realized that Anna hadn’t known the extent of Trip's injuries. She was stretchered away towards the 'med point' by first aid trained production personnel of his company.

He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Now I begin to understand why you walked out on us, son.”

A visibly shaken Admiral Gardner looked him straight in the eyes.

“Prepare to start production on February 1st. You are damn right. Our people deserve the best and we've just seen it. Not only the generator, but also the man who designed it.”

“Thank you, admiral. I'll make sure that Lieutenant Commander Hess is well cared for, sir.”

Gardner nodded and patted him on the shoulder.

Stunned into silence, Malcolm watched the Starfleet personnel walk out until only T'Pau and the two Brazilians from the rival company were left. The man, clad in an obscenely expensive suit, reached out his hand.

“Congratulations, _Senhor_ Reed. We could never have competed with such an ingenious design. And you are quite right. The fleet deserves to have it.”

“I invented the whole kit and kaboodle, sir. I had a fairly significant advantage,” Malcolm said, exhausted from the onslaught of pesky emotions. “But as you say, the fleet deserves to get it as quickly as possible. How would you feel about producing it under license to help us out with production capacity?”

“We would be honoured, _Senhor_.”

=/\=

Hearing T'Pol's scream, Hoshi followed suit as she masturbated herself to a desperate orgasm. She had not even taken the time to take off the blindfold. After the test of the bathtub under 'Trip conditions', both of them had been so aroused, yet determined not to repeat the mistake of two months ago, that T'Pol had retired to the bedroom while Hoshi had provided relief for herself right there in the bathroom.

If there was any positive result coming from the most humiliating experiment they had conducted so far, it was that they had developed a fairly neat bathroom layout, which would allow Trip to shave with everything in reach without having to reposition the wheelchair and while it had ended in ultimate embarrassment they had established that shaving and bathing would be something that he could do on his own with a bit of training. Now it was just a matter of working out the details, as Trip obviously couldn't carry in the coffee table to help him get into the bathtub.

She pushed off the blindfold and walked into the kitchen where she met T'Pol. Both heavily breathing, hugged each other, remaining still for quite some time.

“That was a close call,” Hoshi said and she felt T'Pol's agreeing nod.

“So, what needs to be done in the bathroom?” she asked, while starting to make tea after releasing her from the hug.

“The bathtub needs to be embedded in the floor,” T'Pol explained. “He can lower himself into a sitting position on the ground – at the head of the bathtub and then glide into it, if we install handles on either side. The taps need to be mounted on the side too, so they are in reach when he is in a sitting position. They would be too far away on the foot-end.”

“Isn't it just easier we help him?” Hoshi asked, and immediately regretted the question when she saw the hurt in the other woman's eyes.

“Of course we will help him,” the Vulcan said. “But I want him to live in the knowledge that he could master the situation on his own if necessary. Every situation in which he absolutely needs help is one too many. Everything he can continue doing on his own will help him accept that some parts of his body have ceased functioning, but he can still have a valuable life-experience.”

Hoshi's face formed into a scowl now the talk had come to non-functional body parts.

“T'Pol, we've been avoiding the big honking elephant in the room since day one.”

She was slightly startled when T'Pol sighed audibly. Nevertheless, she persevered. Now the corpse was out in the open, they might as well dissect it.

“It's all jolly well to let him feel up our bodies, but how can we know he won't start to feel like a creep? And don't forget ourselves. We're not just a pair of tits and a pussy to be groped at will. I have no doubt we would easily afford him the little pleasure he has left in life the first weeks after he comes home, but at some point we are going to grow sick of it, especially as he can't finish the job once he's made us sopping wet. And what about poor Trip himself? What happens to him if _he_ gets aroused? How does he release it?”

With a blood-curdling howl, her control truly shattered, T'Pol fled into the bedroom and Hoshi could hear the racking sobs even through the closed door.

The whole gravity of the fact that T'Pol had lost all hope of an intimate life with Trip sank in like a ton of bricks. Hoshi buried her face in her palms and started to cry.

=/\=

Thankfully Anna had not been injured in her faint. Malcolm and T’Pau had visited her in the med point on their way back from the demonstration. She was already on her way back home. It was obvious that she was devastated by the news, however. This day was really bitter-sweet. On the one hand he felt elated by winning the contract; on the other, Anna's reaction reminded him of the hardships ahead.

Malcolm sat down in his office, fighting a tired smile at T'Pau's preference to remain standing.

“Darling, sit down,” he said. “I won't peek under your skirt and besides, I wouldn't even see anything that I haven't seen before, would I. We used to take baths together.”

With a slight blush she finally sat down across from him – somewhat awkwardly.

“T'Pau,” he started. “You've been a monumental help over the last few weeks and your internship ends in eleven days. I'd be very glad if you would join the company on a full-time basis with a proper salary, not just the pitiful one thousand credits I'm allowed to pay you as an intern.”

“I was hoping to finish my schooling first.”

“That goes without saying.” he said. “You’ll be released from work whenever your schooling schedule demands, but I'd rather have you here for four hours than someone less suited and motivated for eight.”

“I would be honoured, Mr. Reed.”

“I'm okay with it if you call me that in front of the workforce, but in here I'm Malcolm, okay? Mr. Reed sounds like I'm sixty years old.”

She nodded her agreement.

“Now I'm the world's most useless relationship counsellor,” he went on, wryly self-conscious. “But since Trip can't say anything, I'll have to do the dirty work. T'Pau, you're close to becoming fully mature, so I’ll hazard a guess that Trok is a bit more than a friend?”

He saw her pronounced blush.

“I'm not talking to you as Mr. Reed. As your boss, your private life is no business of mine. I'm talking to you as Malcolm – the best friend of your godfather, trying to stand in for him best I can.”

“We both have developed an affection for each other,” she admitted.

“Now that much is obvious, even to me. It takes a bit of something to make a Vulcan accept a hug,” he said smilingly. “Have the two of you talked about the consequences? Take it from someone who knows how messy an alternative lifestyle can become. One of you will be in that position. Either you, living in a quad. Or him living in a pair.”

“I have already talked to Doctor Phlox. Interbreeding between Vulcans and Andorians is impossible due to Andorian biology. We are hoping to find another Vulcan/Andorian pair of opposite genders to form a quad. Obviously any potential children would be Vulcan.”

“It'll be hell, you know ,” he said. “In your head will be your Trok, but you'll have to get used to the thought of him being with another female. And he'll have to accept that you'll be with a Vulcan male occasionally. Are you really prepared for that? Trust me, I know how messy that can get.”

“I do not know,” she admitted. “But for his sake, I'm willing to find out.”

“Then you really love him,” He sighed. “And what I've seen of the boy, the feeling is mutual. Well...” He coughed, somewhat embarrassed by the turn of subject, but ploughed on manfully, “when the physical side of things...”

“If you refer to mating, that will not happen for at least another two years,” she interrupted him hastily.

A snort greeted that assertion.

“T'Pau, you couldn't even keep a shirt on for three days when we were on that island. What sort of restraint do you expect of the boy?”

“There is a good chance that he will see me unclothed and hopefully the gesture will be returned,” she explained, rather brazenly in Malcolm's opinion. “But Andorians are a demonstrative species. They pride themselves in their ability to restrain themselves. It is a sign of willpower, proving their value as a warrior, to forfeit physical intimacy before the age of thirty, no matter how desirable their mates are. Trok is twenty-eight years of age. He is most determined to resist the temptation for another two years. I know he will master the challenge. And I do not yet feel prepared for that last step in any case.”

“Well he couldn't quite resist the temptation to research the human database on the topic of romantic gestures by the looks of it,” Malcolm said with a chuckle after he had peeked out of the window.

Seeing T'Pau's puzzled expression, he added, “He's standing in front of the gate with a huge bouquet of flowers.”

He looked at her, openly enjoying her blush.

“Scoot, sweetheart. Don't make him wait. Tomorrow is Friday. Take the day off. Things will go haywire starting on Monday. Enjoy the time.”

He accepted her quick hug of gratitude, and gave her a thumbs-up as she walked out of the door, plainly trying not to hurry in a very un-Vulcan manner.

Watching through the window again, he chuckled when he saw her stalk across the concrete area in her high heels, and he laughed out loud when he saw the Andorian stunned into dumbfounded dribbling as she came through the gates. ‘Handy Smurf’ had obviously not been prepared for _that_ kind of a gorgeous surprise.

Hoshi had really outdone herself with T'Pau's make-over.

It was good to see that someone’s love life looked like it was going to thrive. His own was what it always had been - a bloody disaster. And somehow the company’s success had a hollow feeling to it when he looked across to his faithful divan bed and knew that yet again, tonight he’d be falling asleep in it alone.

=/\=

“How are you doing?”

Travis looked up at his brother and sat down on the cargo container.

“If you ask about my arm – it couldn't be better. It's got more strength than my natural one and if I break it, all I need is a four millimetre screw driver to fix it.”

“Travis,” his brother replied, and Travis noticed that he still made a useless job of hiding his sarcasm. “It's not about the arm. Everybody around here sees that you’re carrying some baggage with you. Hell, severed limbs are not exactly rare on old bangers like this. We all know that this isn't what’s eating you.”

“It's Captain Tucker, and Starfleet,” Travis huffed and the hyper-spanner skittered across the floor as he threw it away in a fit of rage. “He's blind, Paul, and he can't walk. And Starfleet just said 'see ya buddy, hope you get along for the rest of your life'! I've been on the same ship with Captain T'Pol for five years. I've never seen her devastated like that, Paul. They've just thrown us away like broken toys, man. We were broken and they threw us away...”

Unable to hold back any longer, Travis started to sob heavily. One of his arms was clutching the other, but if he hadn’t had feeling in his fingers, he’d never have known it.

=/\=

Phlox looked at the women who sat across from him in his 'office', which was nothing more than a rectangular area, walled off by privacy screens near Mr. Tucker's biobed. Considering that he had just shown them the first minuscule movements of his patient's hands, their elation was rather limited. It was clear that something was troubling them.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked.

“We have spent the last two months perfecting the wheelchair design and organizing our house in a way that will hopefully allow Trip a maximum of autonomy despite his handicap,” T'Pol explained, and Phlox immediately suspected that whatever she was about to discuss weighed much heavier on her than her measured voice let on. “However, we have more or less blocked out the question of physical intimacy.”

He nodded gravely.

“Since you already told us that his primary sexual functions will not recover, we were wondering what, for instance, will happen if he becomes aroused. Obviously the usual method with which human males deal with the situation will not be available to him.”

He looked at them and it was obvious that the question had been asked on behalf of both of them. A development which did not entirely surprise him, and which he tucked away in his mind for future reference.

“In absence of the physical aspects of sexual arousal, like penile erection, ejaculation and all bodily functions that go along with it, arousal will be a much more cerebral concept. Due to the absence of a physical reaction the need for a physical release – an orgasm, specifically – is absent too. In a way he will be able to enjoy the pleasurable sensations of physical touch without the buildup of an urge for physical relief.”

“He won't be driven mad by it?” Hoshi asked.

“No,” the Denobulan assured her. “He will be able to enjoy physical touch without complications. Since you obviously have given the topic some thought already – and if it is not too intrusive – may I ask which... stimuli you had in mind?”

“It _is_ too intrusive,” T'Pol answered, and Phlox noticed the uneasiness in both women. “But since we are adamant to afford him every possible quality of life, it is a topic that must be discussed without taboo, no matter how much that inconveniences us.”

The doctor felt admiration for T'Pol's willingness to endure the inherent uneasiness that Vulcans felt at discussing intimate topics. But he could also see that the two young people had become so obsessed with their preparation and their devotion to Mr. Tucker, they were starting to neglect themselves.

“Are there any of Mr. Tucker's previous intimate habits that could perhaps be adapted to his condition?” Phlox asked and he got an almost imperceptible nod from T'Pol. Obviously Hoshi was relying on her Vulcan companion to do the talking.

“Hoshi – and to a lesser degree I – have a habit of wearing little to no clothing in the privacy of our home. Trip used to amuse himself by appreciating our physique in a manner that he believed to be surreptitious. And while that option for obvious reasons no longer exists, we thought about letting him rekindle this habit using the methods available to him. Obviously the illusion of our oblivion to his appreciation would be destroyed.”

“A most thoughtful idea,” Phlox said. “If you would accept my advice on the matter – give the activity some purpose. I suspect Hoshi will teach him Braille?”

She nodded.

“Make a game out of it. Write down which body part you wish him to explore and do not reduce it to – let’s say – the obvious ones. Your shoulders, your face, your toes – they all hold a much greater fascination for someone who relies on his tactile senses. Even a man,“ Phlox chuckled at his own self-deprecating joke . “sees more in a woman than her erogenous zones. Help him to build up a picture of your _entire_ physicality, just as he will need to do with the entire world around him. Mr. Tucker is a playful character and it is important to re-establish that facet of his personality. It will go a long way to help him accept the new circumstances of his life. Not to mention that it will also help sharpening his tactile senses.”

“Which leaves the problem that _we_ will become aroused,” T'Pol noted.

“Well, without wanting to sound too self-congratulatory, but I have noticed that the concept of a quad that the Andorians use to describe your relationship is far closer to the truth than they think. In fact I would submit the four of you have a much more intimate connection with each other than any real Andorian quad. Surely among the three of you, you will find ways to bring relief to each other.” Considering that one of the members of the ‘quad’ was notoriously old-fashioned and reserved, there would undoubtedly be problems along the way, but Phlox with his perpetual optimism was convinced that ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way’. And however uptight about intimate issues the ex-lieutenant might be, he was also human and male, with a fully functioning reproductive system and the appropriate libido.

“That would exclude Trip.” He heard the distinctly upset note in T’Pol’s response and Phlox took a deep breath. A hard truth was incoming.

“T'Pol, Hoshi, this will hurt you, but it must be said. Mr. Tucker has sustained widespread injuries and as a result he has been left with severe disabilities. There _will_ be parts of a human's life that he will be excluded from and there is nothing you can do, no matter how hard you try. I cannot give you definitive advice on the matter, but I can see that you have been neglecting yourselves and I suspect Mister Reed is being even _less_ catered for, considering how rarely I get to see him lately.”

Phlox's heart ached when Hoshi started crying in distress and T'Pol, too, looked to be on the verge of an emotional outburst, but he soldiered on.

“If you impose on yourselves the same limitations that apply to Mr. Tucker's life, you will achieve nothing but making him feel guilty for it. You will, of course, need to find a tasteful solution, but the occasional sadness of not being fully able to participate in your intimate lives will be easier for him to bear than the guilt of being the reason for you abandoning it altogether.”

Seeing that even T'Pol had silent tears running down her face he decided to make at least a feeble attempt at consoling them. He wouldn’t offer them false hope, but there was certainly not ‘no hope at all’.

“Do not forget that Mr. Reed and I will combine our resources to research ways to overcome Mr. Tucker's disabilities. It might take time, but you have my promise. I will not stop before I have succeeded.”

Feeling it a small price to pay for knowing that his words had been heard and heeded, he endured the uneasiness that Denobulan males felt at uninvited touch when the two distressed females embraced him tightly. When they had both recovered a modicum of control, T'Pol led Hoshi out of sickbay. Phlox became most concerned, especially about T'Pol. It was not the first time he had seen tears on her face and for a Vulcan that was an extremely alarming sign.

He walked around the privacy screen to check Mr. Tucker's bio-monitor readouts, but he stopped and gasped in mortification when he saw silent tears escaping from under his patient's closed eyelids.  


	4. Confessions of a Former Armory Officer

**Confessions of a former Armory Officer**

  
  


Phlox sat in his improvised office feeling morose like never before. How could he have been so careless to forget that the minuscule movements of his patient's fingers could be a sign of a much greater alertness? He had made the biggest mistake a professional could. He had let himself become emotionally invested in the case of Mr. Tucker and his carers. As a result, his urge to console the women and alleviate their fears had made him forget the brain scan that would have told him that the mind of Mr. Tucker was much more awake than even the most optimistic prognosis had predicted.

Of course he had performed the missed scan by now and had discovered (rather to his relief or disappointment, from a healing perspective) that Mr. Tucker was not after all fully alert. In fact the tears seemed more like the twitching of his fingers – an involuntary reaction of his body – but it had alerted him to the fact that he should take a more neutral position in this case or he would one day be unable to serve as his medic. The unusual situation of the four former officers, who had developed an affection to each other that went far beyond their initial marriages, was potentially explosive and being caught up in the middle of it was not really advisable.

Had they been Denobulan the situation would be positively manageable, as each of the women would only have to deal with two 'husbands' and each male with only two 'wives'; but even then there would have been the complication of obvious sexual attraction between the females and – he guessed – perhaps between the males, too. That would be the most straightforward explanation of how the friendship between two conventionally married couples had developed into a rather complicated four-way maze of interpersonal attraction.

There were of course several complicating factors. The first one was the loss of the mating bond between Captain T'Pol and Mr. Tucker. While T'Pol and the recently deceased matriarch of her clan had dismissed the loss with slightly disturbing easiness, nobody could tell how Mr. Tucker would react to it. The loss of a major cognitive sense, not to mention the brain damage and resulting partial paralysis, were conditions that would be hard enough to accept for a human. The additional loss of such a wonderful connection might be devastating. Phlox, who had been fascinated by the concept for many years, could only guess at what it would be like to have such a connection and then lose it.

Another problem would of course be how Mr. Reed would deal with it. The very traditional Brit seemed to have problems in adapting to changing conditions in general. The necessity to accept the developing alternative lifestyle that went against all his traditional beliefs was apparently hard to take. Phlox had tried to counsel the former Captain, but the introverted man had just clamped up. Over the time a peculiar ritual had developed between them.

Unable to overcome his inherent reserve enough to speak openly about his inner feelings, the Brit had started to talk about them to his unresponsive friend in the biobed, loud enough for Phlox to overhear it and never asking to be left alone. The Denobulan had soon realized that this seemed to be the only way his former shipmate felt able to articulate his emotional situation – it was an indirect plea for help.

=/\=

‘ _Hi, mate.’_

The Englishman was back again, in his usual seat beside the bio-bed. He sat hunched over, head bowed, staring at his joined hands where they dangled between his knees.

Hearing the note in the low voice, Phlox was careful not to draw attention to his presence, though he knew that once again Mr Reed was fully aware that he was there.

After a pause, the voice went on, slowly and with many pauses, heavy with shame and confusion.

‘ _Well, what can I say? The proverbial hit the fan today. Now I'm no longer only dreaming of doing your wife. Since last night apparently you are part of my prey pattern too. I have no idea what fucked me up like that. Sure, back in the section they taught us to blow a chap or have your knob slobbered if a potential contact happened to be queer. Hell, I even took one up the arse once to get what I needed, but it certainly wasn't my idea of fun and I was keen on anything but a repeat performance. I never had any desire to get cozy with a bloke, well until last night I dreamed of nothing but having you shag me till I begged for mercy. Not that it makes a sodding difference...’_

The clearly distressed human – after a long pause – had continued to report less problematic topics like the difficulties in getting his fledgling company off to a good start, but Phlox had not paid much attention to these additional pieces of information, as they were not important for evaluating the source of Mr. Reed's problems.

What was immediately apparent to the doctor was that Mr. Reed was completely blocking out the emotional side. There was nothing that would lend credibility to the impression that he wanted only to engage in carnal relations to the Vulcan. Had that been the case, he would most likely have done so already; Phlox had realized at the time that over the five months it had taken the _Marconi_ to reach Earth, none of them seemed to have engaged in any sexual activity. T'Pol in particular had appeared deeply deprived, and Mr. Reed would not have had a great deal of resistance to overcome had the sole act of access to her body been his only ambition.

He used the wonderful act of lovemaking – employing vulgar slang terms in an attempt to convince himself that the whole affair was as sordid as it was unethical – as a façade for the deeper emotions he had developed for his close friends. The account of his dreams about his male friend were most interesting. First there was the revelation that Mr. Reed had prior experience with sexual relations between males, albeit as part of his former status as an operative; and Phlox was also convinced that his experience of receptive anal intercourse had been a lot more unpleasant than the Brit had let on. Else he would never have reacted with as much disgust to the dreams about actually wishing for a repeat of the act, even though with a distinctly different partner.

The problem seemed two-fold. First of all, although sexual relations between members of the same gender were now widely accepted on Earth – much unlike only one and a half centuries ago – Mr. Reed seemed to have some underlying homophobic attitudes. Those were most likely a result of the upbringing of the introverted human. Hoshi had only rarely spoken about it, but what Phlox had gathered over the years made it apparent that Mr. Reed had endured a catastrophic childhood with an upbringing that was at least two centuries out of place.

What seemed to be a minor detail, but most emphatically wasn’t, was the fact that he wished to be taken anally 'until I beg for mercy', emphasizing an underlying wish to be punished. Even in the unlikely case that such an encounter would ever take place, Phlox knew that Mr. Tucker would never employ methods painful enough to require being asked for mercy. Mr. Reed was wishing to be punished for the attraction he had developed to T'Pol and to a degree to Mr. Tucker, as he found himself unable and unwilling to accept it.

The fact that he had found from somewhere the courage to ‘open up’ thus far, even in this cautious and oblique manner, was encouraging.

Helping him find the self-acceptance he so desperately needed, however, might be singularly difficult.

=/\=

‘ _Well, what can I say, mate. I wish I could just pack up my stuff and live in the factory. I seriously doubt I can take the empty look in T'Pol's eyes any_ _longer_ _. You've always said you can read her by just looking in her eyes. I didn't believe you back then, but, bloody hell, I believe it now. You can literally see all the energy drained out of them._

_Heck, I wish I could just put my arm around her and_ _let her_ _have a damn good cry – Vulcan inhibitions be hanged. But I know how that would end. I don't even dare touch Hoshi anymore, because I'm mortally afraid of what that would do to poor T'Pol. The two of you were never anything close to celibate. She must be as deprived as hell. Hoshi certainly is. And all the while they run themselves ragged trying to make the house into a perfect place – especially T'Pol._

_Hell, it's... it's a shit thing to say, but I almost hope they'll snap and end up hopping in the sack just so they have at least five minutes without remembering how lonely they are. I'll pay for that thought, I dare say, as I have no idea how I’ll react when it really happens. I'll probably be as miserable as fuck, but I’ll tell them that I'm okay with it. That’s another thing they teach you in the Section – how to lie. It comes in handy sometimes; I can still fool her when I want to. That's Malcolm Reed for you – too big a bloody coward to admit he's feeling like shit.’_

It had been a telling monologue, Phlox remembered. It was significant that Mr. Reed's voice broke only once – when he described the plight of T'Pol. It was the first time he had failed to hide just how deep his attachment to the Vulcan had become. For five minutes of temporary relief of the pain for both women he was willing to endure the misery of knowing that his wife was being intimate with someone else when he no longer dared lay a finger on her.

The Denobulan smiled sadly as he realized that Mr. Reed would most likely not be miserable. He would _make_ himself miserable as a misplaced punishment for his own emotions, and most likely he would even think up a reason to blame himself. His self-reproaching comment at the end told Phlox that he was probably reaching the point where he couldn't deal with his suppressed emotions any longer.

=/\=

‘ _Seriously mate, that goddaughter of yours read me the bloody Riot Act two days ago like nobody else before. Granted, trying to drown all the shit in booze was not the best idea I've ever had. But at least she got me thinking. Hell, I've known for some time that Hoshi was head over heels for you too. She's not the shy type, but she would never engage in a game of cards with Travis while being stark bloody naked and they've been friends since the early days of the mission. But she never loved Travis._

_Well, I should really be careful what I wish for, because I got it. The girls couldn't stop themselves anymore yesterday and have done the deed. I just hope you can live with that one day. I can live with it, sort of, but I don't count. I love both of them and if they could have some relief if only for one minute... And how can I blame them, I'm dreaming and fantasizing about all three of you – sometimes all at once._

_Hell, it doesn't get any easier. What will you think about all the shit we've been stirring while you were out? Damn, I wish there was a way to communicate – mind meld or anything. But Phlox said, with your brain messed up as it is, a mind meld is last bloody thing you need. The only thing that gives me hope is that T'Pol's gone into one-track mind crusade to find even the tiniest bit to make your life easier. Just for that sort of devotion, I promise you here and now, I will stop at absolutely nothing to help you and her – even if that means involving that scumbag Soong.’_

It was a monologue that had become stuck in Phlox's mind for several reasons. First and foremost, it had been the first time that Malcolm Reed had spoken openly about his emotions and had even used words like 'love'. He had even openly admitted that this affection concerned both females.

It seemed a long process, but Mr. Reed seemed to have started opening up, and surprisingly all by himself. Phlox had never broached the subject of his confessions to a comatose friend. Maybe this unusual style of self-therapy was what the man needed. It was also the second time that he had openly spoken about intimate thoughts concerning his ailing friend.

On Denobula that wouldn't even be worth contemplating. Sexual contact between wives was a common occurrence and – while rarer because the fellow males of his species were much less 'lively' than the females – sexual encounters between husbands were far from unheard of, too. This usually did not indicate homosexual tendencies as the wish for such contact was usually strictly directed at one or two partners.

By the impression he got from his four charges, humans were apparently able to develop similar feelings, as he severely doubted that Mr. Reed had any desire to become intimately acquainted with any male other than Mr. Tucker – especially considering the prior encounter in his time as an operative, which Phlox still suspected to have been rather traumatic. It was, however, much more remarkable that T'Pol had engaged in sexual relations with Hoshi, as even this very restrictive type of bisexual tendency was almost unheard-of on her planet. The number of bisexual or homosexual individuals he had encountered were represented by single digit numbers, and he had spent a decade on Vulcan as part of the Interspecies Medical Exchange.

The devotion of all three uninjured members of what the Denobulan too had become to consider a true quad was moving, but he could also see worrying signs that all three were increasingly ignoring their own wellbeing. He was adamant that he should not involve himself in their private matters, but it would become necessary if one of them started showing signs of serious self-neglect. After all, all three of them would probably be needed when Mr. Tucker regained full consciousness.

=/\=

When Malcolm Reed walked into the infirmary, Phlox knew immediately that something was different. He had spent the last hour recalling the different monologues of the introverted Brit over the last three months, but was interrupted when the man gave him a pat on the shoulder and greeted him with a elated “Evening, doctor!”

Before he could even answer the unexpectedly lively greeting the human had already disappeared around the privacy screens that shielded Mr. Tucker's bed from inquisitive looks.

‘ _Well, mate we've done it! We won the Starfleet contract for a whopping two-hundred and fifty million bloody quid. And the best thing is – not even four hours later the Andorians and the Vulcans jumped on the bandwagon and to top it off, all of them shelled out partial advanced payments. Gardner must have pleaded one hell of a case for us. Your goddaughter, who by the way is a bloody genius in business matters, had offered to try convincing the clan to invest, but with the cash-down payments we can easily expand the factory._

_Now I can finally build that research lab for Phlox. Trust me, mate, we're gonna research the hell out of everything to get your legs and eyes back into service – well – and for the girls’ sake, something else, too.’_

Phlox stood up and, as surreptitiously as he could, peeked around the privacy screen. Mr. Reed was practically bubbling with excitement and to Phlox's surprise, he was gently holding the patient's hand. Quickly he restored Malcolm's privacy again.

‘ _I don't even know where to start. Well, T'Pau, I don't think you'll recognize her. She's been one helluva help, oh and she's head over heels with that Andorian fellow she rescued in the Antarctic. But don't worry, I've done my modest best to stand in for you as Uncle Malcolm. Not that there's any skulduggery going on_ _between the two of them yet_ _, but I just wanted to make sure._

 _Told the girls about the contract last night and - I kid you not - I finally saw something like hope in T'Pol's eyes. The house is all prepared for you. I_ _had the chance to see it all_ _for the first time this morning. Those two have organized_ everything _to a tee. Hoshi will be chomping at the bit to teach you and...”_

“Why... Mal... Why ... not ... care... better?”

It wasn’t Malcolm’s voice. It was a voice that had been last heard on the bridge of _Molotok,_ ordering the final decisive attack on the Romulan shipyards. It was hoarse, it was slow, but it was Trip’s.

Phlox tore down the privacy screen as he stumbled towards the bed. Mr Reed had risen to his feet, his face pale with shock.

“Captain Tucker?” the doctor asked in disbelief.

“No... Captain... blind... remember?”

Phlox exchanged a shocked glance with Malcolm.

=/\=

T'Pol's mind recoiled in horror as Hoshi accelerated the craft way past the maximum operational velocity. The young human had gone into a frenzy as soon as a very emotional Malcolm had called them from the hospital in Berlin. Completely unclothed (as she mostly had been since rekindling this habit), she had simply run out and prepared the craft. Thankfully T'Pol had prepared for that occasion and stored some clothing in the shuttle’s lockers.

“Okay, Mrs... Hoshi, deal with the authorities yourself. I've cleared flight level three-one all the way to Berlin … for the sake of everyone else,” an audibly exasperated flight controller reported over the craft’s comm system. “But if you actually want to arrive there, please watch your speed. There's only so much abuse an MKS can take.”

Gently, but with determination, T’Pol wrestled Hoshi's fingers off the thrust levers and retarded the controls far enough to reduce the speed to acceptable levels.

=/\=

Malcolm saw the two women barge into the hospital room and sent them a watery smile. He could tell that Hoshi's overall was an afterthought as somehow she had missed the detail that it was supposed to be zipped up. Instead his dear wife had apparently entertained parts of the hospital by running through it with her boobs hanging out.

Gently he closed the zip and ignoring her deep blush, he kissed her gently before hugging T'Pol.

“You said he's awake?” Hoshi asked.

“He is,” Trip answered, and Malcolm was surprised by how quickly Trip's voice was recovering after more than eight months of coma. ”If the ladies would deem me worthy of a kiss? The first one I got after being out for god knows how long had a helluva lot of stubble involved.”

Malcolm felt the heat of a massive embarrassed blush as the girls looked at him wide-eyed. Thankfully they soon remembered Trip and went about their delicate business, restraining their natural enthusiasm to take account of his condition.

=/\=

“If you would excuse us for a moment, Mr. Tucker?” Phlox asked. “I believe I should discuss a particular matter with your companions.”

“No, doc, the moment you're out of sight, I'm gonna run.”

Phlox saw Mr. Reed put his arm around Hoshi when she appeared shell-shocked by the blunt dismissal, especially as Mr. Tucker had mocked his own disabilities that he was obviously aware of. It had been a jest, but there was a bitter edge to it – hardly surprising in the circumstances.

“I have not yet been able to establish a full psychological profile,” he started to explain when they were out of earshot of his patient. “Apparently there have been changes to Mr. Tucker's personality. From what Mr. Reed and I have heard so far, his manner of speaking is even more straightforward than before.”

“Nice try, doctor,” the Denobulan was interrupted by a sarcastic Malcolm. “He has all the linguistic finesse of a jackhammer. Never ask him if any piece of clothing makes you appear fat.”

The Denobulan saw the stricken look of the women.

“He appears to have little ability for applying 'white lies' as human say. You must expect that he offers his opinion unaltered to the point that it may sound rude or insensitive.”

“How could that happen?” Hoshi asked. “Don't tell me there's a brain region for white lies.”

“Of course not,” the doctor replied. “The human brain is a complex organ. There isn't a dedicated brain region for every facet of a being's personality nor a gene to turn it on or off. Personality changes are common for patients who have sustained such devastating brain injuries. He will re-learn a certain finesse over the time. But keep in mind, whatever changes from his former personality you might encounter, _he_ is not aware of it. In his mind, he's always been like that.”

“So no 'You never used to say that',” Hoshi supplied.

“Indeed. It would in fact be counter-productive, as it would only serve to remind him of the extent of his injuries.”

=/\=

_One day later..._

Phlox was sitting at his terminal checking and re-checking every little portion of data and still could not find out where he had lost the overview so badly. Two days ago there had been a visible emotional reaction from a still comatose patient that the brain scan had identified as an involuntary reaction of the body, yet less than twenty-four hours later the patient was awake, able to engage in coherent conversation and – despite not having been formally informed about his injuries – seemed completely aware of his resulting disabilities and not the least bit distressed by the knowledge.

Well, there was only one way to go about this – the now trusted method of Malcolm Reed's 'self-therapy'. Mr. Tucker had requested of his companions that he be only visited by the Brit for today. Phlox wasn't so sure about the ethics of abusing Mr. Tucker's lack of vision to skulk in the vicinity, but he reasoned that the former chief engineer would request his departure if he required absolute privacy.

“What? No kiss today or did you still not shave?” he heard Mr. Tucker ask and after an indignant gasp from his friend there was a moment of relative silence, when Mr. Reed obviously delivered the expected intimacy.

“Your dear goddaughter ripped me a new one for forgetting it yesterday,” the Brit replied dryly. “She's like my mother without the habit of beating the raw stuffing out of me.”

“You better listen to her or she'll pick up that habit, too, because sometimes you need to be bashed over the head with it, Malcolm.”

Phlox could hear Mr. Reed’s exasperated sigh. The blunt address was taxing the troubled Brit's resolve.

“Trip, I tried to be diplomatic about it. But you confuse the bloody shit out of me. The first thing you experience after being out of it for months is me kissing you, and the next day you even ask for it. There is no gentle way to tell you that you're paralyzed and blind, yet you seem to be completely blasé about it. Instead you berate me for not having shaved, something that by God is completely irrelevant right now. I'm _that close_ to running out here, screaming in terror.”

“Gimme your hand, Malcolm.”

There was a short moment of silence. By the fact that the demand was not repeated, Phlox surmised that Mr. Reed had probably complied.

“Malcolm, I've known that I'm blind and unable to walk since the moment T'Para reconnected me and T'Pol. My mind was far less out of it than Phlox thought and I had – according to what he told me – seven months’ worth of every wakin’ second to come to grips with it. I don’t know what sort of mojo the Eldest engaged in, but I'm pretty sure that without doin’ what killed her, I wouldn't be here right now. I should be dead, but I'm not. Of course being blind sucks, but I've still got all ten fingers, I'll manage. I'm hardly the only one who needs a wheelchair either. But damn, even if I don't know what we did that day, the fact that someone could afford to keep my comatose carcass alive means the Romulans haven't gotten here yet.”

“God dammit Trip, I wish I had your strength.”

Phlox could hear that Mr. Reed was succumbing to tears. That in itself was a rare occurrence, Just weeks ago he couldn't even _speak_ about his emotions, let alone show them.

“What? The strength to build up a company that now has multi-million orders from three coalition races? The strength to build a research lab for Phlox? I know you and T'Pol won't stop for anything. Bless you, you 'forgot' to mention that _that_ part of my anatomy has gone out of service too. Trust me pal, one day you'll have even that working again, too. And I'll gladly gold-plate your rear-end after making sure that T'Pol and Hoshi are well catered for. Until then you'll have to accept that I'm no good for anything but giving you a blow-job.”

Even Phlox gasped at the vulgar and blunt admission that Mr. Tucker was not only aware of his sexual dysfunction, but also his friend's secret dreams. As glad as he was – with certain reservations – about the acceptance that Mr. Tucker showed towards his fate, this bluntness was unnerving. He didn't even dare think about the strain that this change in his personality would put on those who loved him. After all, he was no longer exactly the same person they had fallen in love with.

“How can you know all that, Trip?” The question from Mr. Reed sounded distinctly meek, but there was an undercurrent of panic. It was clear that discovering that the confessions he’d thought were being made more or less in the privacy of his own heart had actually been made to someone who could hear them, had shaken him badly.

“I've registered a lot more than y'all think. Especially your weekly self-castigation. If I could see where your ass is or move my legs, I'd kick it into the middle of next week for not takin’ better care of the girls. We both love the two of them. I'm not gonna lie – I'll never forget that you held off on makin’ a move on T'Pol. The one thing I wanted was bein’ with her, pleasurin’ her with what little options I have left before I have to accept the inevitable, and were the roles reversed I would never have moved in on Hoshi, but you should have encouraged them when they did... well, between the two of them. You have never seen T'Pol deprived. Sometimes you're too fuckin’ honorable for your own good, man.”

“Shit, Trip, I don't know what to say...”

“Malcolm. Tell me one thing. Your research is not going to be a project of one week. That means the happiness of the girls will depend on you for months, maybe even years. Are you prepared to go through good and through bad with T'Pol the same way you are with Hoshi?”

“No question. Yes.”

“Are you prepared to go through good and bad with me? No matter how weird it will be due to my... condition?”

“No question, again, Trip.”

“Okay. Then I have three tasks for you.

“First. Organize a trip to Andoria for me. I don't remember much of the mission that messed me up like that, but I know that Andorian tradition requires that I deliver a few hundred blood vials to their wall of heroes. Shran was in here not too long ago and I'll be damned if I disappoint him, even if I have to go there as a fucking cripple.

“Second, take care of Hoshi and T'Pol. Let them know that I'm okay with them... well... being intimate. You made it clear that you sort of accept Hoshi's side of things.

“And third, take that friggin' stick out of your goddamn ass.”

=/\=

“Phlox?”

“Yes, Mr. Tucker.”

“Call me Trip, goddammit. And now that Mal is gone, I want the whole truth. I know he, T'Pol and you will run yourself ragged in research, but what are the _real_ chances?”

Phlox measured his response.

“Your vision – we are never going to restore that without cybernetic implants. The whole visual cortex of your brain has taken widespread damage. I have started on a theory, but we are looking at years of research.”

“So I need to learn to live with it. What can I do?”

“The 'girls' as you so affectionately refer to the women, have already spent weeks of research to organize your home in a way that will afford you a maximum of autonomy. If you wish to hear my advice, you should search for ways to sharpen your tactile senses as well as training your sense of abstraction. You were not born blind, so you know the look of many objects you encounter.”

“It's not the same, Phlox. A plasma regulator that you have to feel because someone installed it in the most ridiculous place, felt bigger than when you saw it.”

“As I said, you will have to train the interaction of tactile and abstract senses. I believe I once saw human children model objects with a sort of moldable substance.”

“Brightly colored, lookin’ a bit like clay?”

Phlox nodded, before he remembered he was required to give an audible response. “Indeed.”

“Plasticine. So I suppose you want me to feel objects, trying to model them in a bid to sharpen my mental imagery.”

“Indeed.”

“I'll do that. What about my other ailments? My legs and... you know _that_ part? Sex was always important for me and T'Pol. Now Hoshi and Malcolm love me too, and the feelin’s mutual and frankly, if I could...”

Phlox sighed, and was immediately mortified that he had failed to suppress the sound.

“Out with it, doc!” his patient commanded.

“Restoring your ability to walk is the one injury I would almost guarantee to overcome one day, but your sexual function... We have tried all we could, but the best we could do was to restore enough sensory input for you to sense the urge to urinate or to defecate. You could of course make yourself available to receptive anal intercourse, but it would hold no value for you as the sensory input would be insufficient and I doubt your partners would find any pleasure in using you in that fashion if you cannot enjoy it. Penile erection is impossible too. There are a few erogenous zones remaining, the nipples for instance...”

“But in essence I'm useless,” his patient said. “I could go down on the girls, blow the hell out of Malcolm, but that's it.”

Phlox didn't answer immediately.

“The fucking truth, doc!” his patient demanded with an angry growl.

“There is one option,” the Denobulan admitted with another sigh. “Due to your physical disabilities, sexual stimulation will become a more cerebral concept for you. Are you familiar with the concept of a 'peeping tom'?”

“A perv who likes watching others have sex?” Trip was outraged, and made no attempt to conceal the fact.

“For your own sake I would advise to abandon such a perception of the act as a perversion. Since your tactile sense will soon become a much more important one in your life, exploring the bodies of your loved ones by tactile means will become a much more important concept.”

“You want me to feel them up? While they’re _doin’_ it?”

Phlox sighed again.

“Yes. It would require of course a lot of your partners as they would need to stop in the middle of a sexual encounter to allow you to explore their bodies, but...”

“Fuck! I'm not gonna do that, doc! You want me to grope Malcolm's dick while he fucks T'Pol?” The other man was almost yelling now. The indicators on the readouts above his bed showed that his heart-rate had soared with frustrated rage.

Phlox huffed – he had really had enough of this new – 'brutally blunt' persona. He was only trying to help!

“I've tried to be civil about it, Mr. Tucker,” he said levelly. “Since you wish to speak plainly, I am going to spell it out for you. You can resign yourself to orally pleasing your mates with no return for you whatsoever, or you can accept that your own needs require adapting from both sides. What will it be?”

He was not really surprised by the emotional reaction of his patient; it was long overdue. The unnaturally easy acceptance of what had happened had been temporary, and until Trip had endured the long, agonizing emotional see-saw of coming to terms with his new reality, his rehabilitation would not be complete. The surge of fury broke in upwelling tears.

“I can’t handle this. I can’t imagine it. I don't want to make them feel weird,” his patient said, choking.

“Mr. Tucker, just two hours ago, you asked Mr. Reed if he was prepared to be with you through good and bad – no matter how 'weird' your condition would make the undertaking. I agree, what I have just described qualifies for being described by that term. But Mr. Reed did promise to do so and I venture to say, the women will do so as well. Why don't you give them the chance to keep the promise?”

With a tired sigh Trip sank into his pillow. So much exertion and emotion had exhausted his meager reserves of energy.

 


	5. The long way home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A timely reminder: 
> 
> This story is not a feel-good sappy piece. Also it deals with a lot of topics that might make people go 'Eeeew'. And to those who complain about this being too 'sexualized' - You would be surprised how much a share of the problem of sudden disability come from this topic. I've seen it in the family. 
> 
> This is uncomfortable to read at times, but then sappy pieces are easy and I've written enough of those. I'm going all out on this one, accepting that I might fail. But then, it's the failure you learn from, not the successes.

"Navgation: Coffee Table, North face."

Following Hoshi's command the wheel chair set in motion and delivered Trip to the ordered position, giving him time to memorize the movements of the craft until he arrived at the small table in the living room. Once there she put his fingers on the correct location in the wooden over-head model of the apartment, giving him time to explore the miniature surroundings to put the location in the right context in his mental image of their new home.

She could see that he was exhausted and, even if he wasn't showing it, also frustrated.

He had been home for almost two months now and for all it was worth, his progress in accepting his new circumstances was nothing short of amazing. T'Pol's theory that, as an engineer, he had fairly sharp tactile senses to begin with had proven true and learning to imagine his surroundings by feeling them was one of the easier parts of his learning curve. The same was true for his memory. For someone used to memorizing intermix ratios, plasma flow rates and a whole host of other numbers and specifications, remembering where the couch was and which way it was facing, had been no major problem.

She didn't know when it had happened, but somehow she had ended up being his personal trainer. T'Pol, having used up all her back-logged shore leave had taken her new post as an instructor at the academy. Starfleet would have preferred that she returns to her ship, as captains were on short supply, but she had let them know in no uncertain terms that Starfleet had but one choice. Giving her a posting that allowed her to return home every day or take delivery of her resignation. Since that wasn’t really a choice at all, Starfleet had done the sensible thing and chose option one.

Malcolm, well he was a problem all of his own, and she had to fight the urge to sigh. He had tried to make good on his promise to involve himself more in Trip’s rehabilitation and had spent more time with them. Unfortunately, for all the progress Trip had made by now, the first two weeks had been disastrous. His movements had been unsteady, as his muscles were unused to any refined movement after eight months of immobility. Glasses were swept off the table, objects dropped more often than not to Trip’s massive frustration. Unable to cope seeing Trip completely helpless, Malcolm had fled back to the sanctity of his office in the factory.

She couldn’t even fault him for that. She had been a hair’s width from running out of the house in despair on more than one occasion herself. T’Pol was devastated, but not showing it. The only one, who seemingly had accepted the situation as it was, was Trip himself. He was frustrated when things didn’t progress as fast as he would have liked, but that was the only sign of him struggling with the new life fate had had thrown him into. Patiently he went through his daily training, even making the occasional joke. His bluntness was still there, but even though Phlox had said he would not see it as a ‘new’ facet of his personality, he seemed to have noticed that they were affected by his forthright speech. Even though he was still prone to deliver verbal blows, he had started making a conscious effort to soften those blows if he could catch himself in time.

While she helped an exhausted Trip hoist himself out of the wheel chair and onto the couch, she considered her options of keeping this four-way relationship from imploding. For all their apprehension of how Trip would react to the not exactly foreseeable inter-personal developments between herself, T'Pol and Malcolm, it turned out that he had been not only the one to be aware of it first, he was probably most accepting of them all. Just like he had accepted his disability, he had taken the new dynamic between them as if it was the most normal development in the world.

Putting the blanket over him, she left him to his afternoon nap with a kiss. A fleeting smile appeared on her face when she remembered those first two weeks at home with him. The breakfast had become somewhat of a 'Waltons' style routine with everyone exchanging a good-morning kiss with everyone else, except Trip and Malcolm. For all of Trip’s bluster and Malcolm’s secret confessions, there wasn’t the same level of intimacy between them that had developed between her and T’Pol.

They were what they had been before - best friends, perhaps with the added layer that they both knew their respective wives loved both of them, but there was no real sexual attraction, which was certainly also influenced by Trip’s condition. It always came back to that blasted topic of having sex, why couldn’t they just do it and return to concentrate on the _really important_ things in life, like doing all they could to heal Trip?

All the less did she understand why the big white Elephant was still in the room. Each of them had accepted the three others as an integral part of their life, yet when it came to that last step, everyone but Trip seemed to shy away from it and as a result there was not only a constant unresolved tension in the air, the damned topic also took up a lot more time and thought than it should.

She had even considered getting them all together and ordering a blasted orgy, just so that the damn topic would be off the table. So far everyone had stuck to his 'regular' partner and that by far not in a frequency that anyone would call normal. Yes, they were in their twenties and thirties – well, T'Pol in the Vulcan equivalent – so the times of hormone driven perpetual horniness was in the past for all of them, but once a month might be normal for Granny and Grandad, but not for young people, who used to have a normal intimate life.

The most difficult part in that particular equation was T'Pol. For all his limitations, Trip certainly seemed to have lost nothing of his gentle technique, if the very vocal orgasms of the Vulcan were anything to go by. She had heard that from a whole story above, but in her stubborn denial T'Pol refused to believe that Trip was getting anything out of it unless he could stick his meat somewhere into her. That she not only tormented herself for nothing, but also hurt Trip completely eluded T'Pol's understanding and Hoshi definitely needed a plan to make her understand that he was a fully adequate intimate partner, who did indeed enjoy it, too. If necessary she would be the test subject herself. If nothing else, everybody was paying lip-service how okay they would be if she took him to the bed – it was time to replace words with actions.

She would no longer be sitting idle watching their wonderful relationship sour over something as mundane as sleeping with each other.

=/\=

“I hope everything is according to your specifications, Doctor?” Malcolm asked, walking into the newly built clinic of his expanding factory. Since they were now employing over five thousand workers, the law mandated a fully equipped doctor's surgery with the appropriate staff, except that his clinic featured a full-fledged laboratory full of equipment to give Phlox every resource available for his research into helping Trip.

“Where have you procured this?” Phlox asked pointing at a Tarkellian microscanner.

“I have my contacts, Doctor,” Malcolm answered evasively. “Do you think you have what you need to start your research?”

“You certainly weren't miserly on the equipment, Mr. Reed. I believe we can start scheduling regular appointments with Mr. Tucker, perhaps two times a week. The treatment will be very taxing and we do not need to inflict unnecessary discomfort.”

“I'll let Hoshi and T'Pol know,” Malcolm said and quickly turned to go when the doctor heaved a breath, no doubt to lecture him about his absence from home. He didn't have the power to endure that right now. The factory expansion was a 20 hour job and production was expected to begin in little over a week. As much as he missed all of them, he couldn't quite deal with his job and Trip's plight at the same time. Even a former operative in the section was only human, and a messed up one at that.

=/\=

Hoshi was looking at the clock. Since T'Pol was punctual in an almost robotic fashion, she would be here in exactly seven minutes. Trip, well rested from his afternoon nap, had commandeered the kitchen counter, diligently practicing Braille using a learning program she had created for him. After all, she had all the time in the world at the moment.

But now was the time to put her plan into action. Someone had to do the first step and if it was her, so be it. She had enough of the dancing around each other.

“Trip, would you help me with something?”

“Sure, where are you, darlin'? The coffee table?” he asked back, stopping the learning program.

“North face,” she confirmed, feeling happy that he had determined her position just by hearing her voice and the memory of a room layout he had never seen with his eyes. It was unbelievable, how quick he was adapting to his circumstances.

He instructed his wheelchair to deliver him right there with an offset of one meter and she turned to face him when his vehicle stopped next to her.

“Phlox has prescribed me breast massages and I...um... wondered if you would give me one?” she explained somewhat apprehensively, not telling him what kind of therapy that massage was a part of. T'Pol had given her the 'gift' in private.

He smiled.

“Tell me what to do darlin'. Just knead them?”

“No, linear strokes from the base towards the nipple,” Hoshi explained and took his hands. She put his fingers around her right breast, spread them around the circumference and slid them along the slope of the tissue towards the pointed end.

“Hoshi, am I imagining things or are your boobs a little bigger than I remember them?”

Elated that at least _someone_ noticed, she squealed in delight and planted a hot kiss on his mouth. Soon they were engaged in a desperate tongue-wresting match. They broke the kiss, heavily breathing.

“Navigation: Bedroom, right side, center,” he ordered and the wheelchair set in motion. Hoshi followed him and on the way hopped out of her panties – the only thing she wore anyway.

“Lay down on your back, darlin'”

She did so, her body trembling in excitement.

=/\=

“You okay if I just look at you a bit?” she heard him ask.

She closed her eyes, awaiting his touch.

“You have no idea how long I've waited for you to do that.” she said in a husky voice. “Please look at me, Trip.”

Her breathing got ragged when he gently ran his fingers all over her face, her neck and shoulders. His movements were slow, gentle and he didn't miss an inch.

“You're so beautiful Hoshi.”

“I've not heard that nearly often enough,” she whimpered as he started to circle his fingers around her erect nipples. His fingers ran along her arm and she gasped slightly, when he lifted her hand and caressed every of her digits with his lips.

Slowly his roaming hands ran down her body, shortly interrupted by Trip adjusting the position of his wheel chair. Her senses swam as his gentle fingertips explored every inch of her body. When his searching digits reached her pubic area, she spread her slender leg to give him better access, lost in the unspeakable pleasure of his gentle caress. She clawed the bed sheets, gasping for air as he ran his finger down the length of her labia and then outward along her upper thighs.

Gently he pushed two fingers into her drenched opening and used his thumb to circle her nub of pleasure. She bucked her hips in a desperate bid to get more of his touch.

“God, please, make me cum Trip, make me cum, sweetheart, please,” she begged helplessly, crying out as his gentle ministration pushed her over the edge. She arched her back and with a low grunt her body started to shiver as the long-denied climax finally took possession of her body and mind.

=/\=

When Hoshi came to her senses after the most intense orgasm she had experienced in a ridiculously long while, she noticed that instead of continuing to 'look' at her, Trip had started to administer the breast massage she had asked for in the first place.

“Bit more pressure sweetheart,” she instructed with a loving smile that he could sadly not see. “It's supposed to stimulate tissue growth, not making me horny again.”

“How long has it been for you darlin'?” he asked softly, continuing to massage the soft tissue methodically.

“Too long,” she replied and failed to hide the giggle, when she noticed that T'Pol was standing in the middle of the bedroom, clutching a package. She had seen most of their encounter, just as she had planned. Now it was a matter of waiting if T'Pol's words of acceptance had been empty or true.

=/\=

“One hour, Limey. And I hope you still know how to make sure that your personal PADD doesn't show any additional content when you walk out.”

“Thanks, Falks. I owe you big time,” Malcolm replied and shook the hand of his former drill sergeant before walking into the interrogation room. Arik Soong was already sitting at the table with his hands unshackled. Malcolm tilted his head to signal the guard that his presence was no longer needed.

“What do you make of this case?” he asked gruffly and slid the PADD over to Soong.

=/\=

“T'Pol, why don't you join us?” he asked.

Listening to his surroundings, he noticed that she came to stand next to him. Her ragged breathing was hard to miss. Seeing him finger Hoshi to an explosive orgasm had clearly aroused her.

“Have you collected the package?”

“Yes, ashayam. I am carrying it. How did you know I was here?”

“Put the package aside for the moment and sit down for a moment, will you?”

She did so and he felt her putting his hand in her lap to alert him to it. She seemed unwilling to let go of his hand.

“What have you just seen, T'Pol?”

“You were pleasuring Hoshi.”

“Did she enjoy it?”

“Quite obviously,” the Vulcan answered.

“Did _I_ enjoy it?”

“I cannot know. Through the dark glasses I cannot see your eyes.”

Trip sighed.

“T'Pol, my eyes don't work anymore. You can't read the plasma pressure from a broken dial. Why do you think I wear these glasses. It's to keep people from freaking out.”

“You were smiling throughout the encounter,” she said after a pause. “ And you were... humming – they way you used to do, when I was... pleasuring you orally.”

The last part came out haltingly and in a broken voice as she was obviously pained by reminding him of his dysfunction.

“May I interrupt here?” Hoshi asked and he nodded.

“Trip, we both are confused to a point, T'Pol more than I. It was hard to miss that she came up a storm a couple days ago – twice – and you've just given me an orgasm I won't forget in a damn hurry. But what's in it for you?”

“I didn't believe Phlox when he said that sex will be a much more mental affair for me, but I now understand what he meant. Do you know that feeling just seconds before you cum? That buzzing in your head?”

“You're making me wet again,” Hoshi said.

“That's what I'm feeling right now in my head and it's only the after-effect of having touched you. Back in the day groping T'Pol's boobs was – well, a nice thing to do – but now it's a much more glorious experience to touch someone. When I felt up your boobs, Hoshi, I was not only touching but also seeing them through the same channel. That makin' sense? I don't get to feel that final explosion, but I get thirty minutes of the most pleasurable buzz in my mind.”

"If Phlox were to restore... you know... would you go back?” he heard Hoshi ask.

“It'd be a hard decision,” he admitted. “But yes I would go back. If for nothing else than the fact that T'Pol finally understands that I am not without pleasure in life. And besides, there are practical reasons. T'Pol wants me up her ass, but unless she takes up fisting I'm not much help at the moment, am I?”

He heard them both gasp. He had to work on his finesse some more, he reproached himself.

=/\=

Malcolm looked at his clock. Thirty five minutes had gone by and Soong had done nothing but study Phlox's medical logs.

“Quite an ingenious solution,” the prisoner finally said. “Nerve transplantation to restore at least digestive functions – very clever.”

“Your point, doctor...” Malcolm urged impatiently

“The patient has obviously taken devastating injuries. If you hope to restore vision using medical means – forget it. That brain region is lost. It's still supplied with oxygen, but the synaptic damage is too extensive. The legs and, well, his ability to please the females. It should be possible, but Phlox needs to stimulate stem cell growth. The damaged brain regions will slowly die off. Their place needs to be taken by fresh cells.”

“Even I as a non-medic know that this is not normally happening. It sounds more like a salamander which grows its severed tail back.”

“That is exactly the genetic sequence I would introduce. It can’t bring the vision back as the respective brain region is actually not dying off according to this scan. But some of the motor functions could actually return. You don’t happen to have a strong telepath at your disposal, do you?”

“I have,” Malcolm answered. “If I offered you that I’ll get you out of this prison, will you cooperate on this project?”

“That is quite a generous offer, Mr. Reed,” Soong said with his typical arrogant grin.

“An offer that you can cash in on when the patient can shag his wife and walk to the bed on his own to do so.”

“I knew one day someone would appreciate my work. Your former captain was so unappreciative of my talents.”

“I’m not my former captain,” Malcolm replied flatly. “I’m a man, who wants to get things done. It’s up to you. If the patient gets better, you’ll get out of here. If he doesn’t, your holiday options will remain very limited.”

“We have a deal, Mr. Reed.”

=/\=

The awkward silence was deafening. Hoshi tried not to show her shock about the blunt revelation that Trip had delivered. She had not been aware that T’Pol as a Vulcan had even considered this particular variant of human sexuality. Since she had been curious about it herself, but never found the gumption to actually try it, it was a surprise that the Vulcan had made that decision already. In fact she suspected that this particular experiment had already been conducted.

Sex, sex, sex – this was what everything seemed to revolve around lately. It didn’t exactly sound healthy.

“Can someone answer me a question?” she asked wanting to hear the others' opinions. “Why is everything revolving around sex lately? Don’t we have enough other problems?”

“Because it is the one problem the two of you couldn’t solve,” Trip answered. “You’ve organized everything to the tee, so I can find my way around despite being blind. You’ve developed this here wheelchair so I can get around easily and it has taken a wrong turn only once in almost two months. But the one thing you couldn’t help me with is that I can’t get it up anymore and have barely enough feeling in it to know when I'm done peeing. You refuse to believe that I can cope just as well or you are perhaps afraid of the unusual changes it takes to include me.”

Hoshi looked over at T’Pol and met the same abashed look she had herself. His delivery was brutal, but the content was spot-on.

“The four of us have been inseparable for close to two years now," he continued. "We shared everything but the bed. That was the big friggin' elephant in the room. And it still is. What I’ve just done with Hoshi, I’ve been dreaming of for a long time, even before I lost haf the ability to do what I had planned to to. Everybody is saying that it is only normal we are now intimate with each other, but nobody but Hoshi made a move. And one thing's for sure. Malcolm will get a surprize when I'm done with my appointment with Phlox.”

Hoshi gasped.

“What?” she heard him ask. “Did you really think I’ll leave Malcolm out. He isn’t the only one with a lively imagination. Malcolm and T’Pol are the ones with the biggest problems to adjust. And I must say I’m not really pleased by the way none of you has made an effort to include him. So, since none of you thought of at least blowing the poor guy once, it looks like I'll have to do it.”

“That’s unfair,” Hoshi protested, her voice breaking as she felt hurt by his insensitivity. “We’ve given him any opportunity to come back. He tried, but when he saw you having problems, he ran off again. What the hell are we supposed to do?”

Her voice cracked even more. “Hell, I miss him, but I have no idea how to get him to come back,” she added

“That’s because you are the wrong person to get him back, darlin’,” Trip said softly and she suspected that he had noticed her upset. “Malcolm has been a loner all his life. All he ever learned is not to be dependent on others. But I _am_ dependent on others and it terrifies him. It was bad timing that he saw me unable to have breakfast without wreaking havoc on the table. If there is one thing Malcolm can’t cope with, it’s helplessness.”

“All he would need was to see you,” T’Pol argued. “You have reached an astounding level of autonomy.”

“He needs to experience it first hand. He doesn’t trust anyone but himself at the moment. How have you come to be convinced that I would be able to master life despite my circumstances?”

“We’ve tried it,” Hoshi said. "We basically went through your training program ourselves as we developed it. You should have seen the look on the poor clerk's face when a Vulcan walked into a sex shop to buy blindfolds."

Suddenly she remembered that she had referred to visual experiences again. “Sorry,” she added hastily, embarrassed about her careless quip.

“What the heck are you apologizing for, darlin’,” he said, slightly irritated. “Are you going to beg forgiveness every time you see something, just because I can’t?”

Hoshi didn’t know how to answer.

“Gimme your hand, Hoshi.”

She obeyed his demand.

“If anyone knows how much my situation sucks, it’s me. But that’s what we’ll have to make do with until Mal and Phlox pull the proverbial rabbit out of the hat. And even if they never do. I should be dead, but I ain’t – that should count for something.

"Neither of us ever expected that we would grow from two couples who were close friends into a messed-up pile of four lovers, but it’s our task to un-mess it okay. We once promised each other that we would look out for each other. You’ve all kept your promise as far as I'm concerned, but now it’s time to get Malcolm back home.”

“Have you got a proposal?” T’Pol asked, still clutching his other hand in her lap.

“Do you still have that ‘secret flat’ in Costa Calma that you use for havin' sex with Hoshi whenever T’Pau or my folks take over ‘Trip watch’?” he asked bluntly and Hoshi could feel a massive blush creep up her face.

“Y-you knew?” T’Pol asked.

“I knew about the flat in Costa Calma, the purpose was an educated guess,” he answered. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad. In fact that’s what the package is for. It’s a … tool that’ll make the job between the two of you a lot easier.”

Hoshi’s eyes went wide when T’Pol unpacked a strap-on from the package.

"I've said I'm okay with the two of you bein' intimate and I don't deal in hollow statements. But now for what I think T'Pol can do to get Malcolm back."

Since T'Pol had taken his hand again, he could feel her grow tense.

"You and Malcolm are the two people, who don't understand my situation. Malcolm still thinks I'm a helpless cripple whose life is over and you still think just because I can't stick it in you anymore, I don't have any pleasure bein' intimate with you. And besides, unless the two of you haven't overcome whatever keeps you from touching each other, despite the fact that you both want it, this damn topic will hang in the air forever."

He could hear both women gasp. This time, however, he didn't feel like apologizing for his blunt approach.

"Look, we've all been circling each other like shy kittens. I have enough to deal with as it is. I don't need this constant unresolved tension. I don't want to discuss intimacy, I wanna enjoy it with both Hoshi and you, perhaps even Malcolm. So lets get this over with and clear things up right away. T'Pol, you saw me havin' sex with Hoshi. Are you _really_ okay with that?"

"It was... unusual to see it in practice, but yes I am supportive of it. It will become a more usual thought with time."

"Do you want Malcolm to touch you?"

She hesitated, but then answered in the affirmative.

"I won't lie. It will be strange for me too the first few times, knowing that you and he... well you know. Let's face it there are certain things only he can give you until Phlox can come up with a miracle. Why would you deprive yourself of that if there is someone you want? None of us really understands how we ended up in this fourway relationship, but I damn well want to make it work properly, because the one thought that's worse than loosing use of my legs or my eyes is losing any of you."

He could hear Hoshi sniffle and even T'Pol was moved by his plea, so much was obvious from her slight trembling.

"Tell me of your plan, beloved," he heard T'Pol say.

=/\=

“So what do you say, doctor?”

“Does this suggestion come from whom I suspect? There are not too many people on Earth with that kind of knowledge. In fact I know only one.”

“Doctor Arik Soong. But to alleviate your fears, no coercion was involved. He volunteered his cooperation,” Malcolm reported drily, leaving out the details of the deal he had struck with the man as he had no idea yet how to make good on his promises.

“A most ingenious solution. But we would need Jhamel’s help with that. Strong telepathic stimulation would be needed to encourage the growth of fresh cells.”

“I have already spoken to her and Shran. Jhamel is willing to help, despite her reservations against causing him discomfort.”

“The cranial discomfort is a 'necessary evil' as humans like to call it, but with Dr. Soong's idea we can probably keep it to a minimum.”

“Do you think that Soong can be of further help?” Malcolm asked, trying to reign in the doctor's euphoria. After all, they had an idea, but not even started to see if it made any damn difference for Trip.

=/\=

T’Pol was lying awake with the aftermath of deep intimate satiety buzzing in her head. Of course, Trip’s offer to ‘look at her the same way he had done with Hoshi’ had been a more than enlightening experience and with a pang of regret, she realized that in the past she had always cut short the preliminary proceedings of what Trip had referred to as fore-play in favor of more substantial intimate techniques. Had she know what an exhilarating experience it was to be stimulated to an explosive orgasm, just by the touch of his hands...

The fact that her vision had needed a full three hours to recover after the violent climax was testament to the fact that his words had not been empty. Now that she was in full possession of her cognitive faculties, she had finished the letter to Malcolm.

With Trip and Hoshi resting on either side of her she could finish her day’s work, by proof-reading the document.

_My beloved Malcolm,_

_As you will be able to determine from the way I address you, I am no longer prepared to deny that the two of us, like the other members in this unusual union have come to develop an affection for each other that transcends the boundaries of what humans usually describe as friendship._

_From earlier experience interacting with you, I am confident that this observation is not a one-sided one. I engaged in quite a spirited debate with our mates today, which convinced me of the fact that you and me are the reason why equilibrium in this admittedly complex new reality has not been reached yet._

_I therefore wish to ask you to meet with me in apartment five at Calle Playa della Jacqueta number 24, Costa Calma at 1300 tomorrow. All further information will be discussed in private between you and me upon your arrival._

_Yours, expectantly, T’Pol._

  



	6. Therapy

Malcolm sat back heavily. First reports were coming in from Brazil, showing that Embraer had perfectly honored their side of the deal and at this time were actually producing more of the new force field generators than his still expanding factory did. But even the reduced earnings from outsourcing production to Brazil were far exceeding what his factory generated before.

And of course there was this message from T’Pol. So, a meeting at an address well away from their house? Something told him this wouldn’t end in a game of chess. And it was just as well. He would have lost his ability to foresee her actions if Hoshi hadn’t taken the initiative by now and T’Pol’s reference to a ‘spirited debate’ could only mean that Trip had dished out some of his ridiculously blunt messages again.

Truth be told he had long arrived at the conclusion that he and T’Pol were the stalling factors, but he could hardly walk up to the Vulcan and say ‘we should be shagging, love’, even though this was exactly what both of them craved. By looking at what he could read between the lines, Trip had had no such inhibitions and had probably told her exactly that.

Which was why he was currently preparing to take a shower.

=/\=

Hoshi held his shoulders as he doubled over and emptied the contents of his stomach right in front of his wheel chair. She tried to fight back the tears and the nausea as she watched Trip retching in pain, having lost pretty much everything he had swallowed since 2149 through his face.

Well, so much was certain – Phlox had not exaggerated that Jhamel’s treatment would cause nausea. How much more nauseous could it get but puking out everything but your internal organs? Hell if anything she was about to hurl as well!

“Wheel me back in,” he demanded as she wiped the remnants of vile sputum off his face.

“Trip, you’ve suffered enough for the day!” Hoshi pleaded.

“Back in!” he repeated.

=/\=

“Join me?” she heard him ask after Hoshi had helped Trip get comfortable in bed.

“If I join you, we’ll be busy in an instant,” she said with a chuckle, but quickly took a serious stance again. “You heard what Phlox said – at least four hours uninterrupted rest until you’ve dealt with the infection. And in this case, I’m not willing to defy him. You are knackered.”

“Okay, okay,” came his sleepy reply as he rolled on his side with an effort.

She put the blanket over him, but he was already half asleep and didn’t even try to argue. With a kiss on his cheek she turned to leave the room and discarded her clothing except for the panties.

It was time to get going on some work. It would be only so long until Trip would become displeased by her being home as a sort of “personal nurse”.

The truth was of course that she and T’Pol had decided that one of them would stay home to care for him. But to do that, and it had always realistically been herself, she had to find a job that she could do from home. Thankfully Starfleet had been practically begging her to come back and continue her work on the universal translator. The compromise they had come to was that she would be writing a book on her work on the UT so far that would get new talent up to speed and would provide a good income to her and Starfleet as the royalties were to be split fifty-fifty.

Finding an old-fashioned keyboard had not been easy as computers relied on speech recognition these days. Thankfully she knew someone with a factory at hand and it had only taken little over a week to make a prototype that also contained a Braille output, so Trip would be able to use it as well.

The production numbers were small, but the pre-orders were coming in by the bucket load, so the nostalgic devices would provide a nice little but stable income to the factory. Perhaps with time and resources available for more expansion, the market of producing goods to make the life easier for disabled people would be one to explore.

But first Malcolm had to come out of his funk. Since the development of the prototype had seen her visit him in his factory, their strained relationship had improved, but certainly not to the point that she would say it was anywhere near normal again.

At least they had finally made love again after god knows how many weeks, but Malcolm was not the same yet. Even without T’Pol’s telepathic abilities it had not been hard to see that he had not fully enjoyed it for the fact that he was still feeling guilty about his equal desire for T’Pol. Accordingly mediocre had his performance turned out to be.

All the hope rested on T’Pol’s scheme. Getting Malcolm to understand that Trip was far from the disorientated, helpless convalescent patient he had encountered over two months ago, would be a tall order. T’Pol had been somewhat parsimonious on details about how she planned to convince him and her opinion that she could get the other big elephant – sex with Malcolm – out of the room at the same time seemed a bit optimistic.

Not that it was technically challenging – get naked and get on with it – but she wasn’t sure how much reluctance on his part the Vulcan had to wear down, no matter how much both of them wanted it. The very fact that he still thought of Trip as being robbed of all joy in life would serve as a big ol’ cold shower, as he would torment his brain over the fact that he’d be doing T’Pol while Trip couldn’t.

As she slowly walked into the living room, busy with her thoughts about Malcolm, she saw a little object she hadn’t seen before. It was a fairly accurate representation of _Enterprise_ that he had modeled completely from memory. He had been working on modeling things for the entire time since returning home and she had not known how good at it he actually was. Normally he would quickly destroy anything he had made, but he seemed to have forgotten it this time.

She gently picked it up to save it for preservation.

=/\=

Doctor Phlox looked around when the doors to his little clinic opened, hoping that it wasn’t another employee with a minor injury from calibrating the new production line for the force-field generators. The constant interruptions had caused a significant delay in evaluating the results of the first therapy session of Mr. Tucker.

The delay had been even more frustrating because the initial data seemed to exceed even his most optimistic estimations. He was still concerned about using genetic procedures that were barely covered by the law, and certainly not in the spirit of it, but Mr. Reed had made it clear that he would take the blame on himself should any problems arise.

The CEO’s letter, which effectively ordered him to conduct this therapy would of course not absolve him in a court of law, at best it would be considered a mitigating circumstance. But considering that Mr. Tucker was a friend who had risked his life and paid a devastating price for it, risking his own modest career was not something that would cost him a lot of sleep.

It was not another dented factory worker though; it was the company’s owner in what looked to be a ridiculously expensive business suit. He even wore a tie, which meant he was on his way to a meeting with someone important and had most likely come to inquire about Mr. Tucker’s first visit to the facility before leaving.

“So, how did it go, doctor?” came the foreseeable inquiry.

“I must admit that I had not expected such positive results after only one therapy session,” he replied cheerily and offered his guest a seat at patient side the desk. “Although some of it is down to Mr. Tucker’s stubborn nature; he continued the therapy far beyond what many others would have endured.”

“That’s Trip for you. If he sets his mind on something, he rides it out to the bitter end. Just like on the day out there in Romulan space.”

Phlox could hear the voice of Mr. Reed trail off over the last statement and it was not hard to see that he was the one with the most problems to adjust to their circumstances. The other three members of this unique, entangled four-way relationship were far further advanced in their acceptance of Mr. Tucker’s fate.

He would perhaps even say that Mr. Tucker himself seemed to have the least problems, although he knew that problems would eventually arise. There was only so much autonomy they could return to the former fleet captain and frustration about his limitations would come to rear its head at some point. There were very few cases of people, who were disabled after an accident, who would not run into a crisis at some point, even after seemingly living well for years after the accident.

“The new transmitter cells we have introduced were most effectively distributed throughout the body,” he explained as he directed his attention back to his employer. “He will feel a bit exhausted for a few hours as I had to introduce the modified DNA through a weakened strain of _mycobacterium tubercolosis_.”

“You infected him with tubercolosis?” his visitor asked, obviously not very amused about these news.

“It is nothing that his immune system couldn’t handle,” the doctor added to alleviate the human’s fears. “The bacteria had a lifespan of less than four hours and by now have been long cleaned out of his system. Their only purpose was to deliver the engineered DNA to stem cells across Mr. Tuckers body.”

“So basically he’s a salamander now, who can grow back limps?”

“Not to that extent, Mr. Reed. This modification is not extensive enough to regenerate complex cell structures. We could have ended up with a patient who starts growing surplus limbs or… other appendages. It seems however enough to regenerate some of the damaged synaptic connections.”

His visitor processed the news in silence, before another rather foreseeable question was presented.

“An honest answer, doctor: How are his chances and at what time frame are we looking?”

Phlox shook his head slightly as he didn’t have all the answers to all questions,

“I cannot give you an exact estimation as even with these encouraging results, we are still looking at months if not years of therapy. I am however inclined to update my prognosis on regaining his mobility and reproductive functions from likely to very likely.”

“No chance for his eyesight then?”

It was clear that the biggest of Mr. Reed’s problems was the loss of Mr. Tucker’s vision. As one who was dependent on it many years in his work, it seemed to be the biggest worry for the Brit.

“Not with this method,” the Denubulan admitted. “The human brain is the most adaptable such organ I have encountered in any species, but vision is too complex for any other brain region to take over. You must look at a technical solution.”

“I’ve met a lot of species, but none that would be advanced enough to produce bionic eyes. I think the Bajorans had some sort of visor,” his visitor explained indicating the shape of a rectangular object covering the eyes across the whole front of the head. “But it required implanting some sort of connectors into the temples and even then they couldn’t make out more than vague shapes.”

“It is a start, is it not?” Phlox said, trying to give Mr. Reed some hope. “The four of you have expertise in all relevant areas. Hoshi is an expert on sensor technology. Captain T’Pol is one of the best scientist I’ve met and despite his disabilities, Mr. Tucker is still one of the best engineers of humanity. Surely you will be able to develop the concept further, especially now that you have a whole factory at your disposal.”

“Good point, doctor,” the company’s CEO conceded and made ready to go.

“One last question before you go,” the doctor interrupted. “Have you considered hiring Mr. Tucker for your Research and Development department? A computer is not difficult to operate for a blind person, and you are missing out on the considerable engineering expertise of your partner.”

“Wouldn’t that be something to think about when he has learned to cope with his problems?”

Phlox had to force himself to not shake his head or give any other sign of his displeasure about Mr. Reed’s obvious ignorance of Mr. Tucker’s progress.

“I suggest you come here to observe one of your partner’s therapy sessions. You will find that he is well able to master his life to a surprising extent. His stubborn character seems to extend to learning to overcome his challenges.”

=/\=

“I always thought that you were much more interested in other bits,” Hoshi said with a chuckle after Trip had ‘stolen’ a look at her face.

It was the first game of cards they were playing since before his injuries. Buying cards with Braille ornamentation hadn’t been as much of a challenge as she had thought. She was sitting naked on the bed in a lotus position. That was the position she used to assume and she wanted to give him the familiarity so he would need to search long for whatever he was interested at the time.

“Remember that talk you and T’Pol had with Phlox before I woke up?”

“You heard that?” Hoshi asked with a slight gasp.

“Sure, my mind was awake to some extent the whole time. I only really remember the last month or so before I woke up though. Phlox was right, things are much more interesting now. I’ve always thought your smile was beautiful, but _feeling_ it, exploring the curvature of your lips, it’s just… it’s spectacular – does that make sense?”

“More than you think,” she struggled as she started to sniffle.

“What’s wrong darlin’?” he asked after he had found her hand and taken it.

“I’m scared Trip,” Hoshi said as tears rolled down her face. “You are the one of us who sees things most optimistic. I’m scared that you just swallow down all the frustration and depression and it all blows up at a point. We’ve been there before. How can you be so calm over what happened to you?”

She could see that he was thinking about a response.

“Look darlin’, I’m calm because I can’t change anything about it. Phlox can, perhaps with the help of Malcolm and T’Pol. What am I supposed to do? Urge them to work faster? The crisis will come, sooner or later. And I hope by that time we’re all four strong enough to overcome it. For the moment I’m reasonably happy.”

“Sorry,” she muttered as she got the weeping under control.

“Nothing to worry about darlin’,” he said with a smile. He let go of her hand and gently let his fingers glide over her left breast, gently circling her nipple. In no time the sensitive tips of her still growing bust were standing at attention.

“As for these bits,” he added with a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll peek at those too, but that will inevitably end in bed, so I thought we’d get a few more rounds in before we are too horny to concentrate on the cards.”

She chuckled in a mix of arousal and amusement.

=/\=

When Malcolm walked up the stairs to the apartment he was still thinking about what it meant that he had seen one of his company’s delivery boxes in the recycling material area of the house. It had unmistakably been one that they used to package the newest improved version of the speech controlled wheel chair.

Had T’Pol brought Trip with her? Normally that would be quite hard a job, considering that there was no elevator, but T’Pol was easily strong enough to carry him all the way up here.

Finally he arrived at the door, which unsurprisingly had no name tag on it. T’Pol had given him a code for the house’s main entrance and the parking lot, but none for the door. He had long suspected that the two women had procured a hideout were they could be intimate without the danger of Trip being privy to the spectacle. He had witnessed from a distance all those many months ago in that island that T’Pol could be quite vocal in intimate matters and Hoshi wasn’t exactly a whisperer either.

Shaking off these thoughts, he pushed the buzzer four times as instructed in the attachment to T’Pol’s message and the door opened, revealing the Vulcan wearing a long silken robe. Without as much as a greeting he was pulled inside and as the door closed he found himself in a desperate kiss, the Vulcan’s tongue urgently wrestling with his.

When they finally broke the kiss, they were looking at each other, still breathing hard. Her arousal was visible as her nipples pressed against the smooth fabric of her robe and his own, well that was quite obvious as well.

“This apartment’s interior is fairly simple, but I need you to memorize it as good as you can,” she explained without as much as a reference to what had just happened.

Well ‘fairly simple’ was one way to put it, Malcolm thought to himself. He had seen prison cells that were better equipped. The kitchen was barely enough to make tea or coffee and the main room of the small apartment had a bed, a table with two chairs and a small wardrobe as the only furniture. Next to the door was a brand new model of his company’s wheel chairs.

His suspicion about the real purpose of the apartment was confirmed when he saw that the bathroom however was quite well stocked with all sorts of hygiene products, among them – Vaseline. As a bit of bum-admirer himself, he had always thought about but never mentioned the suggestion of trying anal sex to Hoshi, but by the look of things either she or T’Pol had already been trying.

When he came back to T’Pol, he avoided mentioning the large strap-on dildo that was hung on a hook next to the sink. It couldn’t get more obvious, could it?

“I think I have memorized everything,” he said. “Not that it was too difficult. Care to tell me what this is about?”

“You are the one of us, who still deludes himself into thinking that Trip is helpless,” she explained gracefully standing up. To his surprise she started loosening his tie while she spoke and by what it looked like she planned to remove the rest of his clothing as well. “I have decided that the best way to make you realize how much mobility Trip has recovered and how well he manages his circumstances, I decided to take you through some parts of his training program to prove how much progress can be made in a short period of time.“

“Hence the wheel chair,” he said, while the Vulcan continued to undress him.

Her undressing him had caused a predictable sign of arousal, but her explanation of her plans together with the fact that she stopped short of his underpants was quite an effective cold shower. Whatever her plans were, just hopping into that bed and going to town was not a part of them. Upon her indication he sat down in the wheel chair.

“To make this a realistic experience, I shall now immobilize your legs and obstruct your vision.”

Soon he found his legs tied to the wheel chair and his eyes covered with a blindfold. Being someone, who’s survival had always hinged on being in control of things, he couldn’t quite decide whether he was terrified or aroused by his current situation. His treacherous organ clearly voted for the arousal option.

He felt a bit self-conscious about the fact that it was plainly visible to her, but if she was concerned by it, she didn’t mention a word. He heard some faint rustling sound behind him, but couldn’t quite make out what it was.

“The device has already been programmed for the layout of this apartment,” he heard her explain and by the sound of it, she was now standing in front of him. It was surprising how quickly his hearing had sharpened. It looked like some of the old instincts from the section were still there. “I will now sit down on the left chair in the main room. There is a glass of orange juice on the kitchen counter, I wish you to serve it.”

“How do I command this thing?” he asked.

“You command ‘navigation’, state the target, your intended relative position and the distance.”

He heard her walk away, her bare feet making faint sounds as she left.

“Kitchen counter, one meter,” he ordered, but the device refused him with a metallic ‘Incomplete Command’ reply.

“The relative position is missing,” he heard her remind him from the other room.

“Kitchen counter, center, distance: one meter,” he ordered and the motor sprang to life. It was a surreal experience to trust a mechanical device without knowing where he was going. After all it could just slam him into a wall, but then it wouldn’t sell faster than they could produce it, would it?

He rocked forward slightly when the wheel chair stopped and his hands went forward probing the surroundings. He found the edge of the kitchen counter but noticed he was too far away.

“How do I correct the distance?”

“Just order ‘correction’, state the length in meters and the direction.”

“Correction, point five meters, forward.”

The device obeyed and Malcolm could start to explore the top of the kitchen counter. He soon found what felt like a glass and lifting it he noticed that it was heavy enough not to be empty. He grabbed it carefully.

“T’Pol, does it work on left right?”

“No, you use cardinal directions. I am sitting two meters left of the table. In this case it is a west direction.”

“So not aligned to the real compass?”

“No relative to where you are now.”

“Navigation, dining room table, 2 meters west, distance point five meters,” Malcolm commanded and the device sprang to life once again. It delivered him to the required position and he felt how T’Pol took the glass from his hand.

“Would you not agree that being able to serve refreshments after only five minutes of instruction is a remarkable achievement?”

He pondered her question. He knew these devices were good; they wouldn’t be selling like hot cakes if they weren’t, but he had never really gotten involved in the tests? Those had been overseen by his QA manager. Perhaps he should have, just to know how amazing that thing was. He felt bad about never having told T’Pol and Hoshi what a great device they had delivered.

“I should have tried one earlier,” he admitted. “I never knew just how good this thing is.”

“You are the owner of the company. You have personnel to oversee testing. However, I agree that you should have observed Trip putting it to use.”

There was no reproach in her voice. She just stated the fact impassively. “What task is next?” he asked.

“I have moved to the kitchen,” he heard her distant reply and he berated himself for having missed her departure. He had forgotten to use his hearing. “I am standing in front of the refrigerator. I ask you to position yourself directly behind me.”

As the fridge was hardly a meter wide, ‘center’ would be the only option he thought. Getting there without running her over was a different thing.

“Can I control the approach? I don’t want to run over your foot, really.”

“You can add an approach vector with the command ‘approach’.”

“Navigation: Refrigerator, center face east, distance: one meter, approach west.”

The device started up after a short ‘command acknowledged’ and delivered him to the desired position. He waited for further instructions.

“Since this is not meant to be a tedious exercise, I shall reward your progress,” he heard her summarize calmly. “You have always been fascinated with my derriere, Malcolm. You may now inspect it to evaluate if it lives up to your visual impression. I am standing right ahead with my back to you.”

Malcolm felt a slight blush as she called him out on his bum fetish. He could feel his hands trembling slightly as he carefully ventured forward until he felt contact with her thighs. As he slid his hands upwards along them, he realized with a gasp that T’Pol was stark naked! That meant the faint rustling sound earlier had been her discarding the robe.

He felt a bit like a pervert exploring and kneading her unbelievably firm buttocks, but then that was what she had asked for and he definitely enjoyed it. To a degree, exploring them like that was even more exhilarating. No look in the way could describe the feeling of the firm but also soft tissue of her awfully nice bum.

“Wow,” he summarized as he retracted his hands. The ragged breathing of the Vulcan was a good sign that the experience had been all but uncomfortable. Having honed his tactile skills over months now, he was prepared to bet that Trip was much better at it. Knowing that Hoshi was quite sensitive to touch in places, he began to suspect that she was more than well catered for, even if the ‘final stab’ was left to him or T’Pol if that ridiculous strap-on was anything to go by.

“The next task it to have dinner,” she explained, taking the blindfold off him. He squinted his eyes looking at the completely nude Vulcan.

=/\=

Hoshi doubled over shivering uncontrollably as a massive orgasm ravaged her. Trip had worked her up over the last two hours by pushing every single button she had. The combination of his gentle and sensitive fingers in connection to his hearing to detect any change in her breathing was like a most sophisticated detector of erogenous zones. Until that very day she hadn’t even known herself that the hollow of her knees were one of them.

Needless to say that after he had felt up various bits of her anatomy for close to two hours, she had been horny enough to hump a chair’s leg, so when he had finally ‘looked at’ her drenched pussy, it had taken a mere minute until she exploded like a dynamite truck in a forest fire.

He wore a shit-eating grin as she came back to her senses.

“We should play cards more often,” she said with a chuckle, her voice still strained from overcoming her hard breathing. This would certainly become their code word for having her cum hard after an extended groping.

Despite all his claims to the contrary however she couldn’t fight the pang of sadness that there was little way to return the favor. She knew he was quite responsive to have his nipples pleasured, but what little return was that for the immense pleasure he’d given her.

An idea formed in her mind and she reached for a PADD to send a message to T’Pol.

=/\=

T’Pol watched the progress of Malcolm. Despite having had only ten minutes to memorize the placement of various food items on the table, his movements were measured and reasonably secure, although he had knocked over a thankfully empty glass. It was obvious that he was starting from a much better skill level than Trip had done and she could only hope that he would realize that their mate had learned in over two months what he had reasonably mastered in less than an hour so far.

“You have mastered the challenge well,” she analyzed. “I think another reward would be prudent. Do you wish to be orally pleasured?”

Perhaps she should have waited until he had finished his meal completely as her inquiry was met with the explosive ejection of several remnants of food through his nose.

“Bloody hell, love,” she heard him struggle over the coughing. “You really have a romantic streak, haven’t you?”

“I ask forgiveness,” she answered, waiting for him to regain normal breathing. “I find myself unable to use the usual euphemisms that humans apply, unless I am intoxicated.”

“T’Pol you’ve never been drunk since I’ve known you. How can you know?”

“It is a little known fact, but human chocolate has an equally inebriating effect on Vulcans as alcohol has on humans. Thankfully it does not come with the discomfort that humans feel the next day. Hoshi and I have experimented twice with the practice and she recalled that I was ‘going bonkers’ and ‘swearing like a lumberjack’. I believe that were the exact phrases.”

She relished the sound of his laughter. It was a sound that they had not heard in a long while.

“You have not answered my initial question yet, Malcolm.”

“If I want you to fellate me?” he asked obviously trying to avoid any vulgar references to the practice for her sake. “Bloody hell, love, I’ve been dreaming of that for weeks.”

Without further ado she walked around the table and started to tug at his underpants. He lifted his derriere up with an effort until she could push down the piece of clothing. His organ was already erect in anticipation and she swallowed his length.

Malcolm’s reproductive equipment was somewhat smaller than Trip’s but not by any significant margin and certainly far exceeding what science considered the average on Vulcan. Like Trip’s phallus Malcolm’s was larger than what she could comfortably fit in her throat without gagging.

It was certainly not what her people would consider a normal approach to establishing a touch-telepathic connection, but through their intimate contact she could feel the conflicted emotions warring in Malcolm’s mind. Most of her people would most likely not even know of the practice, as she had not before an extensive explanation from Hoshi, and she was surprised by the clarity of the insight into her lover’s mind.

It was hard to miss that her application of this entirely human technique was fulfilling one of Malcolm’s long-harbored desires and if she had interpreted his earlier emotional setting right, his fascination with her derriere went far beyond the mere exploration with his hands. Thankfully she had already found out that for Vulcans anal intercourse was far more stimulating than her species would ever admit.

But this wasn’t the day to introduce this practice, she thought as she directed her full concentration back at pleasuring her partner. The throbbing of his appendage in her mouth left little doubt that he was close to climax. The relative lack of intimate relief during the last months made such a quick climax a foreseeable event.

With a loud groan her intimate partner spilled into her throat.


	7. Malcolm's Return

Malcolm woke up to the strange feeling of being naked in bed. Except for a few times back on _Enterprise_ and _Buran,_ when a long day had ended in a bout of love making with Hoshi, this wasn’t exactly a habit of his. As he opened his eyes, he could see the same state of undress was true for the woman, who accompanied him. And she was looking at him.

He couldn’t remember having seen such softness in the Vulcan’s eyes ever since she had visited him after the Tolaris trial. Thinking back to that time he realized that this was most likely the moment when his feelings for the Vulcan had finally started to grow from mere friendship to a much deeper connection and now she was lying next to him – stark naked, fixing him with that enigmatic look of hers.

“Are you dissatisfied with the absence of more substantial intimacy?” she asked dead-pan without as much as a ‘good morning’ and he nearly choked on his reply. “If you wish we can…”

“Don’t be silly love,” he interrupted her with a half-smile. “Twenty-four hours ago we were still dancing around each other. I think we have all the time in the world. And for once not waking up alone on that bloody divan is worth much more than a desperate shag in the skip. In fact it should be me apologizing. I didn’t quite get around to returning the favor, did I?”

“There will be time in the future,” she replied dryly. “I doubt I have convinced you in just one sitting.”

“Oh, I don’t know, your arguments were quite persuasive,” he said with a chuckle. He was in a mischievous mood. “Although another demonstration at a later time might be quite helpful.”

She only raised her eyebrow as they looked at each other. He hadn’t seen that particular gesture much lately. T’Pol didn’t ‘giggle’ a lot anymore. He turned serious.

“Will I fit back in, T’Pol? At home, I mean.”

He saw her sit up. She didn’t make the least effort to cover herself.

“Do not be irrational, Malcolm. We all miss you. I understand you will need to reconnect to Hoshi and Trip first, but all of us wish that you returned sooner rather than later.”

=/\=

She could not remember having seen Malcolm in such high spirits. Considering that the divan had looked distinctly unused when she had started her work day, T’Pau surmised that he had spent the night elsewhere. Perhaps he had finally started reconnecting to his mates?

“Okay, Ms T’Pau, what do we have?” she heard him ask in a jovial manner. She looked at the PADD and went along with his playfulness. Maybe it would be a good idea to start with the less agreeable news while his mood was obviously still agreeable.

“Corazón de Bilbao, a local newspaper has inquired about the possibility of conducting an interview.”

“Make an appointment, preferably before lunch-time.”

She was startled for a moment. Up until now Malcolm had maintained a rather hostile attitude to any kind of media. Whatever had caused his absence from his chosen exile in the factory, it must have been a fairly important event. She grew a bit nervous when he fixed her with a firm look. It was not malicious, but firm.

“T’Pau, what is it? You’re wondering what got into me this morning, don’t you?”

“Your private life is none of my concern.”

“The hell it is,” he said with a smile. She still had to adapt to the fact that he was actually capable of showing this particular emotion. “We might be boss and assistant, but you are also a good friend who helped me try to overcome one of my worst fears, and not to forget you are the stepdaughter of two of my mates. You are family.”

She raised her eyebrow at that declaration.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” she heard him ask rhetorically with another expression of amusement. It was the first time he had used the Vulcan term for the other members of their relationship. “So to give you the short version, without redundant details, I spent the night with T’Pol and I think I’ve finally started to reconnect with those that I love.”

“A most welcome development,” she answered for want of a better way to express her elation.

The _katra_ of the late Eldest Mother had mostly been dormant in her mind, but lately the essence of the deceased matriarch had been making appearances in her mind during meditation, wishing to converse about her concern for Malcolm’s well-being.

“And ‘well connected’ with my inner Vulcan as I am, I know you have more to say. So out with it!” he demanded, still in a rather jovial fashion.

“It would be lacking in respect…”

“Tell me, T’Pau!” he demanded, more forceful but still without malice.

“You have gained weight, Mr. Reed. We will soon have to order clothing of a different size.”

To her surprise he was not upset, but started laughing.

“Well, Ms. T’Pau,” he answered, ridiculing her formal address. “It is something I have noticed. This bloody office job is fattening me up. But I can hardly jog around the factory, can I?”

“While I think you could,” she argued his dismissal. “We also have a fully equipped swimming pool. I was told that swimming is a most effective way to work out for humans.”

“You know yourself that I’m still having problems entering water,” he said, the light-hearted mood gone for a moment.

“I remember you were quite able to do so with my assistance. I am here, am I not?”

As quickly as it had gone, Malcolm seemed to regain his amused state of mind.

“Okay, grab your swimsuit and we’ll go,” he challenged her.

“I do not remember that we ever needed such apparel in the past.”

He grew serious again.

“T’Pau, you have a boyfriend now. What would Trok think if he knew you go skinny-dipping with your boss? And besides; the swimming pool is not my private property. It is open to all employees. I’m sure the male contingent would appreciate the show.”

She felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks.

“Trok and I harbor no secrets from each other. He has no problem with the practice. Hi exact words were ‘Mr Reed will have enough headaches making his quad work. He does not need you on top of it’. As for the public access; the swimming pool is closed from 11 am to 1 pm and the key is hanging over there. The reflective windows also prevent viewing from outside. You are seeking excuses Malcolm. It is now 11:15.”

With a heavy sigh she saw him push himself out of his chair.

“Remind me to curse the day when I hired you,” he said, grabbing the key from the hook.

She knew his statement held no malice. Malcolm’s humor was well hidden most of the time, but also rather unique when he allowed himself to show it.

=/\=

They walked back into the main building. The hour of exercise had been refreshing, but if word would ever get round that the boss and his assistant went skinny dipping the rumors would be flying. How were the workers supposed to know that it was a well-practiced routine? And they certainly didn’t need to know that their CEO was scared witless of water.

But for the moment he could distract himself with the work at hand.

“We’ll halve those stairs in width and build a ramp on the left side,” he instructed and saw that T’Pau was taking the appropriate notes on her PADD. She could be a pain in the arse, if for instance she out-logic’ed him infuriatingly, resulting in having to climb into a bloody swimming pool, but there was no denying that she was the best personal assistant he could have hoped for. She never forgot anything for starters. In fact he wondered why he even bothered having a computer.

“And we’ll need directional beacons at every corridor junction and ID chips on every door. This building is just too big to program a wheelchair for.”

“We need Braille imprints on the elevator buttons, too,” he heard her add.

“Good point.”

“Mr. Reed?” she called for his attention, careful to use his official address outside his office. “Why I commend your diligence. Is this not a rather excessive effort for hiring my father? The costs are substantial.”

Malcolm sat down on the stairs and indicated her to do the same.

“T’Pau, we’re not only going to hire Trip. I’ve had a bit of time to think after talking to Phlox and I came to realize that we have a real advantage over many other companies. With the wheelchairs and the Braille keyboards we have already made a name for ourselves in producing goods for the disabled. Phlox is doing ground-breaking research and we’ll soon start an R&D project for bionic vision implants. Who better to ask for help than the people who will use our products?”

“What do you have in mind?” she asked.

“I’ve called the ministry of healthcare this morning. Did you know that there are eight hundred thousand people on this planet, who are not only blind and bound to a wheel chair, but also deaf on top of it? Speech control won’t work for them.”

He took her hand, turned the palm up and started tapping and swiping his fingers on it.

“Deaf-blind people communicate through a tactile method, if we can develop a generic control module for that; it could be used not only for our wheel chair, but also for other appliances.”

“Therefore you plan to make this building more accessible as you plan to hire people with various disabilities.”

“Yes. You see, even in our ‘advanced society’,” he said painting quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “Many places are still not accessible. I have to admit that I never gave a toss, but ever since … well what happened to Trip, I find myself looking at buildings and I think: would Trip get in there without help?”

He froze when T’Pau planted a kiss on his cheek.

“I believe you are starting to heal, Mr. Reed.”

With that she left him sitting on the stairs and walked off towards their office.

=/\=

Malcolm was feeling a little uncomfortable when T’Pau wheeled Trip into his office and left the room again.

“You look good, mate,” he said somewhat awkwardly, not really knowing how to start a conversation.

This was one of the rare occasions where Trip’s ‘new bluntness’ would come in handy as his – he didn’t even know what to call him – would surely have something to say. The reality of the ‘First Quad’ had finally started to sink in, if nothing else, spending the night with T’Pol two days ago had sort of sealed the deal. But that brought ‘practical problems’ with it. Was T’Pol a second spouse, Trip a boyfriend?

“So have you and T’Pol finally managed to …,” he ended the sentence with a very unsubtle gesture and Malcolm rolled his eyes.

“Need details?” he said, failing to hide his consternation at the rude inquiry, but he was surprised when Trip’s face fell.

“There are some things that are left to you for the time being, Mal. Phlox will mess me up again in an hour and T’Pol told me the results are lookin’ better than expected, but we both know I’m not as easily fixed as an engine.”

“But you’re also not as broken like the engine at Azati Prime,” Malcolm said and stared at his companion’s sudden grin.

“Well, in one regard T’Pol has made progress then,” the engineer replied and to Malcolm’s relief a small smile had returned to his haggard features.

 Malcolm shook his head. It looked as if he wasn’t only getting fat, his instincts were going too. Back in the days of yore he would have seen through Trip’s ploy to get this admission out of him. 

“I’m sorry Trip,” he said. “I guess it must have hurt that I ran away.”

“Don’t fret about it, Mal. I had a head-start on all you guy’s. It’s not like it was a situation with a pre-defined solution. My situation is difficult enough, but on top of it we had to get our heads around the fact that we’re now a relationship of four. Hoshi is a free spirit, she just runs with it, but the rest of us had to overcome some inhibitions.

“Want a coffee or something?” Malcolm asked.

“I’d be more in the mood for a beer. We haven’t had one since forever, and hell I’m gonna puke anyway when Jhamel’s done with me, so it’s not gonna make a difference.” 

Malcolm smiled sadly and shook his head. Walking to the cupboard he took out two bottles of Trip’s favorite brew. He grabbed a chair and sat down next to Trip.

“Trip, I want you to work for my company,” Malcolm said after he had opened the bottle and put it in Trip’s hand.

“As what exactly?”

“Do you know Lockheed-Martin?” Malcolm asked.

He saw Trip think for a moment.

“Military and space tech company, must have gone bust something like a century ago.”

“That’s them,” Malcolm confirmed, clinking his bottle against Trip’s after the American had held his out. “They had a group called ‘skunk works’, a department that designed some of the craziest projects at the time. I want to build up my own skunk works and I want you to be the head of it.”

“It’s a tempting offer. But I want to ask two conditions.”

“Shoot,” Malcolm said.

“Majority of people are wounded former Starfleet people. They have left a lot of good people unemployed after they discharged the lot of us and I want Hoshi on the team, too.”

“That aren’t even conditions,” Malcolm said with a smile. “What do you have in mind for Hoshi?”

“She’s the only one knowing all the communication methods – sign language, POP, ASL, Braille…”

“And she could continue working on the UT. Surely Starfleet would dish out a few coins for that,” Malcolm added.

“It’s a deal, Mal,” Trip said and held out his hand. Malcolm took it and the shook hands over it. The Brit jumped slightly when his companion started feeling around his belly.

“T’Pau wasn’t kidding, you’re really getting fat Malcolm.”

“Did she also tell you what she proposed to do against it?” he asked back sarcastically.

“Sure and I also know about the fuzz you made over it. Why? You’ve been in the pool with her dozens of times? What’s the problem? You know it’s just an excuse for her, so she can go skinny dipping without having to admit that she likes it. Have you learned nothing about Vulcans?”

“The problem is that I have six-thousand seven-hundred employees, Trip. I don’t need a rumor mill on overdrive.”

Malcolm was slightly irritated when Trip started laughing.

“One day we’ll gonna get you to loosen up pal.”

The Brit harrumphed at that.

“Malcolm, you need a workout and T’Pau needs an excuse for naked swimming. It’s a win-win. Stop being so uptight. And besides, if you continue that, the day will come that you can enter the water without needing her or Hoshi nearby. Unlike my eyes that’s something that can be fixed.”

“You know?” Malcolm asked.

“That Phlox can perhaps repair my legs and my dick, but not the eyes?” came the blunt reply. “Yes, I know that. T’Pol doesn’t keep such things from me. Neither does Hoshi.”

“There may be a way,” the Brit ventured carefully.

“I know, that Bajoran thing,” Trip interrupted him. “I think their idea is okay, but they’re heading down the wrong lane.”

“You already have an idea, haven’t you?”

“I do, but it’s a long shot, so don’t print the marketing flyers just yet,” the American confirmed. “Instead of light sensors, we need to use electromagnetic sensors, like the biosensors on the ship. It will take a long time to train the brain for that, but I think it could work.”

“I think I’ve chosen the right man to lead skunk works,” Malcolm said triumphantly.

“Can you have someone wheel me down to Phlox’s office?” Trip asked, feeling the surface of his wrist watch.

“I’ll bring you,” Malcolm said.

=/\=

_One week later…_

_Déjà-vu_ , Malcolm thought as T’Pol dragged him into the ‘secret’ apartment at Costa Calma. She didn’t even bother to wear anything this time. They had not as much as said it out loud, but both knew this time it wasn’t a meeting to “teach” him. He had learned the lesson last time that Trip was far from being helpless. That their partner had had his fourth working day as the head of “RIRP skunk works” was testament to that.

This was about them. Just like him T’Pol had to overcome a lot of inhibitions to immerse herself in this complex relationship and disguising the final steps as a sort of weird game of achievement and reward made it easier for them to overcome their uptight nature. In anticipation of where this would eventually lead to, he undressed completely and sat down in the wheel chair, letting T’Pol fix the blindfold to his head.

Unlike last time she didn’t strap his legs to the wheelchair though; instead she tied them together.

“I assume you have something very different in mind?” he asked, slightly bemused.

“We will take a bath,” she explained dryly, without protesting that he had decided to claim ‘advance payment’ on any potential ‘reward’ by roaming her naked body with his hands until he had found the soft tissue of her rear-end and gently kneaded her buttocks. After giving him some time to enjoy the sensation, he could feel her step back and let go of her.

“It’s the strangest thing,” he mused. “I’ve seen that Jacuzzi last time. Somehow I’m now not half as afraid of it, knowing I won’t see the water.”

“Have you never tried to just close the eyes?” he heard the Vulcan ask.

“Sure; but unlike now I have a choice and the sheer terror always pries them open.”

“You may now make your way to the bathroom.”

“Navigation: Bathroom, Jacuzzi, center, point five meters, Approach direct,”

“Acknowledged,” the device sounded and he was immersed in that weird feeling of being dependent on a mechanical device at a speed that would hurt quite a bit if it decided to nerf him in to a wall. Suddenly it stopped. That was way too short for the way to the bathtub.

“Door,” the device’s metallic voice reported. He leaned forward and his searching hands found the door handle and he pushed the door open. The devices clever programming monitored the doors position and once it was wide open enough it continued on its path until he was delivered to the target coordinates.

“Since this room is not equipped with the necessary measures, I shall help you,” he heard her say and feel how she slid her hand s into his armpits had easily lifted him. His hands were searching for the rim of the bathtub for supports as he slowly slid down into the tub. Once he was seated in it, Malcolm noticed that it had barely enough well heated water in it to cover his legs.

The water splashed slightly when T’Pol joined him and he gasped slightly when he noticed she was sitting on his thighs, Soon he felt the straps around his legs being removed and T’Pol spread his limbs out to either side, coming to sit in between them, her back turned to him. His rapidly hardening erection was wedged in the crack of her soft derriere.

“This is how Hoshi or I take a bath with Trip,” she explained. She took his hands, and put them between her thighs. “It has become a favorite pastime of his to clean his respective partner. In fact Hoshi and I have become somewhat competitive over the privilege.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but snicker softly. Images came to his mind of T’Pol and Hoshi playing rock, paper scissors over who would get to be washed by Trip. He couldn’t help but ask.

“T’Pol, how _exactly_ do you decide this?”

“Hoshi suggested to ‘sixty-nine’ it out. She and I take up the appropriate position and whoever makes her partner climax first has won the privilege. Since getting cleaned by Trip often ends in climaxing as well, the ‘winner’ does get her share of intimate satiety as well.“

Malcolm was absolute dumbfounded and his body was rocked by hard laughter.

“The results are somewhat artificial though,” she continued her explanation while he was still chuckling. “It was rather one sided as stimulating me takes much longer, so I used to win every contest until Hoshi discovered how effective anal stimulation is on a Vulcan. Subsequently she used to win every time.”

T’Pol’s torso bounced on his chest as he was gripped by hysterical laughter.

“To make the results somewhat more random, Trip decided to interfere, by ‘watching’ the spectacle. Essentially he decides the winner by the way of whose physique he explores more thoroughly,”

His amusement went on for a while, but suddenly a serious thought killed it off.

“Well, obviously I was horribly wrong in thinking that our home was a place of gloom and misery,” he admitted, ashamed of himself. “But listening to your explanation; won’t I be something like the fifth wheel or an intruder into what seems to be a well established routine?”

“Not at all,” T’Pol said, her breathing ragged as he had started to explore her sweet spot and her towering breasts. She leaned back into him while his own back rested against the sloped wall of the bathtub. “If anything, we might now be three people competing for the privilege.”

“Not really,” he chuckled. “Yes I’ve had a few dreams, and knowing Trip he’s probably cracked a few of his blunt zingers, but I don’t think there’s the same sexual attraction between us as between you and Hoshi,”

“That would mean we do not need to decide anymore as both of us will have a bathing partner at our disposal,” she analyzed, which sounded slightly funny, as her breathing got increasingly harder.

“Wash me, Malcolm,” she demanded in a hoarse voice. “The liquid soap is right next to you.”

His hands quickly found the bottle and he squirted some of its content on his palm. Meanwhile T’Pol had opened the tap to fill in some more water. Reaching around her torso, he started lathering her up.

=/\=

Malcolm woke up in the morning to find the bed beside him empty. The night before the two of them had nearly managed to flood the place after they had gotten distracted by ‘washing’ each other… repeatedly. The sheer fascination of experiencing what was essentially just heavy petting, but doing so from Trip’s perspective, was hard to dismiss. Both of them certainly had been squeaky clean at the end of it.

But all the heavier it weighed on him that his fallen friend was limited in the way of how he could get something from it in return. T’Pol’s explanation, that Trip experienced the intimacy on a much more cerebral level was good and even logical in theory, but he was a hands-on ,an, literally if last night was anything to go by.

He looked up when he heard T’Pol return to the room. She was still gloriously naked and carrying a tub of some sort. Without as much as a word she rolled him onto his back and started to coat his ‘best piece’ in Vaseline, rubbing it gently enough for him to build up a massive erection in the process. As she towered over him, positioning the tip of his throbbing organ at the puckered entrance of her rear-end she started lowering herself on it amid groans of pain and delight.

“Have my derriere, Malcolm,” she offered and his thoughts descended into a mixture of disbelief and delight.


End file.
